Symbiosis
by P0larize
Summary: Life isn't easy for the citizens of Gotham, always being dragged into the schemes of its villains. Most people living in the city just want a decent living and to avoid the darkness lurking there. Clover just wants to survive long enough to graduate college, which is going to be exceedingly difficult considering how often she seems to find herself in the company of a dangerous man.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** **So this is my first story for Gotham and I'm really excited to be venturing into this fandom! Ever since I first started watching the show I've wanted to write a story in this universe, and I've always had a fondness for Nygma. This first chapter takes place during the episode "How the Riddler Got His Name" and while it's pretty compliant with the events of that episode, the story will eventually be pretty canon divergent. This fic will definitely be OC centered, meaning that it will be based on her own journey and development. There will eventually be some form of romance, but it'll be a slow burn. Also, this story is cross posted from my A03 account, Ked. Lastly, there's no beta on this fic, so just let me know if you see any terrible errors. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!**

They say the days are gloomier in Gotham, but in Clover's opinion, this didn't stop the nights from being any less abysmal. After being a resident of Gotham for over 5 years, one would think she'd be accustomed to the grey skies and bleak atmosphere the city held, but her distaste for it always managed to persist. Now that the sun had set, the city's true griminess could come out to play.

Strolling down the poorly paved concrete, it was easy to be reminded how much of a sinkhole the city really was. The sounds of sirens and honking cars pressed in from every corner, and the skyscrapers stood like oppressive giants, ready and willing to squash the city's poor inhabitants. Or at least that's Clover always thought they were akin to.

She could've gone on for hours listing the ways that this dingy city disgusted her, but her true priority was to make it back to the university before Professor Smith could chastise her for being late. Clover, who was beginning to deeply regret enrolling in a chemistry class, was up-taking an opportunity for extra credit provided by the head of the chemistry department, Professor Smith. The task was simple; become a lab assistant and aide him in one of his experiments, and the sweet grade bonus would be hers.

Most would think that flocks of desperate college students would be eager to take this opportunity to earn a grade boost, but those people weren't familiar with the eccentricities of Professor Smith. The man had a tendency for camping out late nights in his lab tinkering away with a chemistry set, and on top of that he was one of the most scatter-brained professors on campus. After rumors about his reputation of starting lab fires multiple times, and the indecent of '79 in which a student actually caught fire, spread no one was eager to be in a lab alone with him. Unfortunately for Clover, the promise of extra credit was too enticing.

She was by no means failing chemistry, but the sight of a 'B' was enough to make her take the bait. This was the reason she was now hurrying along the streets of Gotham so late at night, a steaming espresso held between her two hands. Some would say venturing out into Gotham after dark for a coffee was a risky move, but Clover knew she would need it for the night of lab assisting that was to come. The scent and steam of the drink curled into her nose, and it calmed her for the chaos that was to come.

She came to a halt at a crosswalk, shivering from the breeze created by cars whisking by. Despite it being early fall, the nights in Gotham were much too cold for anyone's taste. Clover envisioned her father at home, lounging on their ratty sofa with an old robe on and a beer ever present in his hand. ' _I bet he's not shivering right now'_ Clover thought bitterly as the light changed and she made her way across the street.

As she reached the other side, a yowl echoed from a nearby alley, and a furry black figure scampered between her legs causing Clover to trip and fall. The contents of her drink were now pooling on the sidewalk and her palms were burning and raw from scraping against the concrete. Huffing, Clover looked up just in time to spot a mangy black cat scurry across the street.

"I hope you get run over you stupid cat!" She cried in frustration as she slowly picked herself up.

Clover sighed as she stared at her fallen drink. Now she was running even more late and she didn't even have a beverage to show for it. Where was her miraculous luck that had earned her namesake? She let out a sigh, giving the puddle of coffee a resigned look, then continued on her way.

Finally arriving at Gotham U. (after passing many questionable street corners with even more questionable people), Clover grimaced at the sight of the endless stairs leading to the front entrance. Not for the first time, she cursed the grandiose design of this building as she began her trek up the figurative mountain. By the time she had reached the top, Clover was slightly out of breath but still determined nonetheless. The front doors were closed, but luckily she was able to flag down a night janitor to let her in.

Clover's shoulders sagged in relaxation as she entered the university, the effects of the cold bitter wind outside being negated by the comparatively warmer air inside. After a long moment of soaking in the warmth, Clover thanked the already retreating janitor and began to make her way towards Professor Smith's personal lab. The taps of her worn sneakers against the tile floor echoed throughout the empty building. It was almost eerie to be in a place usually teeming with life when it was so empty. But Clover hadn't come this far to be turned back by a creepy feeling. Despite her intuition telling her this was far from a good idea, she persisted.

Upon arriving at the professor's office, Clover gave two sharp knocks on the door and waited. After a moment she knocked again, only to be met with silence once more. Clover sighed and bent over to check the crack at the bottom of the door. It was pitch black and presumably empty inside the office.

"Maybe he's waiting in the lab..." Clover wondered aloud, turning towards that area briskly. She was already running late due to her desire for coffee, so it was possible he had just gone ahead.

Clover briskly walked down the hallways, past the empty offices and classrooms. Some lights were still on, indicating the presence of other night owls, but most rooms were vacant. Eventually she made it to the lab, silently bemoaning all the power walking she'd done that day. Exercising was definitely not what she was paying her college tuition for. As she opened the door and entered the large room containing the lab, Clover was surprised to hear a voice that didn't belong to professor Smith. She halted in the doorway and listened intently. It might be awkward if she walked in on a private conversation.

"Knowledge can't be shared, Professor?" The voice asked, his tone one of slight disbelief an exasperation.

Clover's view of whoever was speaking was blocked by two tanks of chemicals, but she could see the edge of Professor Smith sitting down. The mystery man continued to speak, his voice incredulous.

"Really? You are the chair of a chemistry department. You've spent a career SHARING KNOWLEDGE! NO!"

Clover knew that this moment should've been the moment she left. It should've been the moment she called the police or made her presence known or ran. Unfortunately, Clover's curiosity had always been her downfall. Something in her wanted to know why someone could be so aggravated with her slightly annoying, yet well meaning professor. In an impulsive moment, all she could think to do was quickly hide behind a desk stationed near the door, hoping that whatever argument was happening was just two colleagues settling some dispute. She could hardly hear over the sound of her heart thundering in her ears.

Clover listened to the man sigh and pace for a moment, before speaking up again. "I apologize. I'm not myself nowadays." Then a rubbery stretching sound. "Hands please."

 _'Could that be... rope?'_ Clover wondered. She peaked over the desk, trying to figure out what was happening in the dimly lit lab.

From her new angle she could make out the two men in the lab. Professor Smith was sitting in a chair, eyes wide and full of fear. A tall, formally dressed man was standing in front of him, wrapping rope around his wrists. The situation looked far from a disagreement between two Professors, although the tall stranger did look like he could work at the university.

 _'Shit, I need to get out of here.'_ Clover thought as she contemplated running for the door. But the fear that the man would discover her had her rooted to the spot, knees aching from her kneeling position. She quickly tucked herself below the desk again, her back pressed against the cold wood.

"I can be a member of a group, but I can never blend in. What am I?" The main asked. He sounded calmer than before, but there was still an edge to his voice.

Despite her fear, Clover raised an incredulous eyebrow. _'Did he just ask...a riddle?'_

Professor Smith fumbled over his words trying to answer. It was clear that he was unsure. "I...uh...a shadow?"

The was a tense pause, and Clover shivered. The situation seemed ridiculous in thought, but somewhere in the tall man's voice was an implication of danger. Like there was something bubbling to the surface that wanted to snap Professor Smith's neck in clean halves. Clover's hand unconsciously came up to cradle her own.

The man finally spoke again. "The answer is an individual. Duh! I expected more." He spoke like a parent disappointed in their child for doing something naughty.

"But then," He continued as Clover heard the sounds of him pacing around the lab, "None of the others did very well either."

"The others?"

"Oh you'd know them. One was an artist, one was a writer, one was a philosopher."

Clover heard the flicking of a spark lighter, and the faint sound of a flame as a bunsen burner ignited. If her heart hadn't been racing at the speed of sound, it would have stopped. This man, who she had already classified as dangerous, was lighting a fire. Clover was trembling with terror, and another emotion she didn't care to identify. What was this man going to do? Would Professor Smith make it out alive. Would she?

"The stars of Gotham's intellectual and artistic constellation. Fallen stars now."

Clover had to press a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp. In the last week several members of Gotham's elite community had been found dead, in increasingly strange ways. After the first two murders there had been suspicion that they may be connected. Then again, murder wasn't exactly a rarity in Gotham. However, after the most recent crime, there had been no doubt that all three had been murdered by the same person. And now Clover was here, in the same room as the man who had committed these horrifying acts. Her mind was telling her she was an idiot, that letting her curiosity get the better of her had royally screwed her this time. She should have run while she had the chance. Now all that was left was to wait and see what the killer would do.

"W-why are you doing this?" Professor Smith asked with a trembling voice.

The man sighed. "My best friend recently said there was no me without him. I shot him and dumped him in the river." Clover couldn't believe her ears, but the psychopath sounded almost…regretful.

"He was a sort of guide to me on my journey. You see, I know who I am Professor. It's how to...be him...that is eluding me. I seek guidance" He abruptly clapped his hands and began another riddle.

"I feel your every move, I know your every thought, I'm with you from birth, and I'll see you when you rot. What am I?!"

"I don't know!" Professor Smith cried in frustration, and Clover cringed at the thought of what would be done to him after he'd just outright admitted defeat.

"Well, that's just too bad." The killer said, his words follow by the hissing sounds of the nozzles and valves on the tanks.

All of a sudden an image flashed through Clover's mind. It was the red diamond label on the front of the twin tanks. It read "flammable". The memory of the man lighting the bunsen burners echoed faintly, and Clover felt nauseous. Professor Smith began to cry out "No! No!" but the thud of the lab doors closing and locking was the most chilling sound. The professor's cries continued, but the sound of the man coming closer to her hiding spot was all Clover could focus on. The desk was positioned between the lab and the door, and the man would walk right passed her. He would see her, and he would kill her.

All Clover could do was hug her legs to her chest and stare with wide eyes as the man rounded the corner of the desk. She clenched her eyes tight and buried her face in her knees when his towering figure halted next to her. If she hadn't been so frightened, Clover would have been embarrassed by the frightened squeak that escaped her mouth. After waiting a moment and realizing she wasn't dead, Clover peaked up at him.

The man was an imposing figure from her angle, impossibly tall and equipped with dark brown eyes made of steel. He didn't look like a common thug or vagrant criminal. His clothes looked expensive and were expertly tailored and his hair was slicked back in a stylish fashion. This was the look of danger. Of a criminal genius. If Clover had been in her right mind she might've even thought he was attractive. But all she could do is clench her hands into the fabric of her sweater.

The look he gave her was a mix of surprise and annoyance. Clearly he hadn't meant for someone to be overhearing his little chat. Yet there was also a sort of clinical curiosity in his eyes. All of a sudden, Clover felt empathy for any specimen that found itself under the microscope of a clinical scientist, because that's what being the subject of his gaze felt like. Like she was a tiny rat and he was a surgeon ready to begin the vivisection.

After a moment that seemed to last hours but realistically could have only been seconds, the man raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the door.

"You should probably run," He said, a smirk gracing his lips, "it's about to get rather hot in here."

Clover didn't need to be told twice. She rose up quickly, stumbling once or twice as the blood flow to her legs was restored, then took off. There were no thoughts of confronting the man, or calling the police, or even warning the other occupants of the building. There was only the echo of his voice, ' _You should probably run'._ If she had bothered to look back, she would've seen the man casually saunter behind her, watching her figure disappear into the distance with a smirk. The girl fleeing, after all, did look quite amusing in his eyes.

Clover tore through the halls and into the lobby. She pushed through the doors with all of her might, ignoring the concerned looks of the night janitor. She burst out into the cold air and took a few greedy breaths, before she continued to run. Clover's legs ached, but she couldn't feel safe until she was miles away from the place. She would only turn around when she had made it a few blocks away. When a large booming noise echoed through the alleys of the city, their occupants startled by the noise. Panting and still, she could only watch as flames engulfed the large dome of Gotham University in the distance. As she leaned against the brick wall she had stopped by, her eyes focused only on the flames.

After a while Clover could hear the sirens of police cars and ambulances. By this point her legs had given out, and she sat with her thighs pulled to her chest and her arms tiredly hanging over her knees. The fear from her previous predicament was replaced by an oppressive numbness. The entire world seemed murky, like she was submerged under water. Everything smelled like smoke and ash and burning. Clover stared at the ground intensely, knowing that if she closed her eyes she would see his face again, cold and cunning.

After her faculties returned to her, Clover contemplated calling the police. She had seen the man's face and could possibly identify him. But the killer had also seen her face. If she went to the police, the was no telling what this man might do to her, or her sick father. Clover's mind wandered to her father. Was he home right now, watching the flaming Gotham University on the news? Was he afraid for her? Would the criminal she met today come after him if Clover went to the cops?

She thought of the hard look in his eyes again. Absolutely. This man would burn her and anyone she loved to the ground if she went to the police. For her father's sake, Clover would say nothing.

It was with this thought in mind that Clover slowly picked herself up, wiping away the tears she hadn't even realized she'd been crying. She could still hear the sounds of sirens distantly and estimated it must have been at least an hour since the whole debacle. She had to get home before the serious night prowlers came out.

As she walked home, Clover wondered how the streets she had walked a few hours ago could look so different to her now. She had always had a dislike for Gotham, but somehow the night seemed darker in light of her circumstances. Professor Smith was undoubtedly gone, but she also felt as if though something was missing from herself. As if some light inside her had also been burned away in the explosion, and whatever remained was a deteriorating black husk.

Clover trudged up the steps to the apartment she shared with her father. It was a fairly decent apartment in a fairly decent part of Gotham. The living space was meant for four people, but was rather spacious for the only two that lived there. The lime green paint on the door used to be a comforting color, but now the shadows just made it dismal. The shadows darkened the color. She stopped in front of the door, a thought in her mind halting her with an electric pulse.

Shadows. Clover let out a huff, and then a humorless chuckle. That was the answer to his last riddle. Something that feels your every move, and knows your every thought. Something that is with you when you're born, and follows you into death. The answer was a shadow. Clover closed her eyes and shook her head, her trembling hand resting on the doorknob. Just like a shadow, the knowledge of what happened tonight would always be with her. That terrible murderers eyes would always follow her, like a shadow, knowing what she had seen and what she failed to do. She could never escape.

Clover took a steadying breath, then slowly turned the doorknob, entering an apartment full of shadows.


	2. Chapter 2

"That'll be four dollars and fifteen cents, sir."

"Woah woah woah, four dollars for a coffee? You're outta ya mind!"

Clover sighed with disinterest as the gruff looking man shook his fist at her.

"Back in my day you coulda got better coffee for a quarter of the price!"

Attempting to refrain from rolling her eyes, Clover give the man a blank stare.

"So do you want the coffee or not?"

"Yeah, yea…" He grumbled, slapping a few dollar bills and some change on the counter. Clover attempted to count his change out, but the man had already moved on. She let out another frustrated huff and deposited his extra coins in the tip jar, not bothering to call out to him. ' _He deserves it'_ Clover thought at she called back the order.

While working in a quaint little coffee shop had its charms, its frustrations were ultimately the same as any retail job, rude customers and all. If Clover wasn't so desperate for money she would've considered quitting long ago. But as things stood with her father's medical bills, they were barely scraping by.

The cancer diagnosis really shouldn't have taken Clover by surprise (her father was a not-so-secret chainsmoker), but the news had been a blow nevertheless. The disease was in its third stage, but Clover was hopeful that he would get better. Her father didn't share the sentiment. He had always been a pessimistic man, and the diagnosis had only worsened his pre-existing problems. First he had lost his job, fired due to a meltdown at work. Then, with his newfound freetime, he proceeded to blow most of their savings in some of his favorite pastimes. It had started with excessive drinking, then gambling, and soon he was owing a few big people some big money.

Clover had been forced to drop out of college, as much as it pained her. As much as she coveted her education, there was simply no room for it in the new budget. There was simply no money to pay for her tuition, and her scholarships weren't nearly enough to cover the financial loss. The two had been forced to sell their apartment and move to a destitute little place in the Narrows. Clover would never forget closing the lime green door to her apartment for the last time. It had felt like a funeral.

Nowadays, much of Clover's time was devoted to her job, caring for her father, or searching for a quick way to make money. All the money from their depleted savings and her father's unemployment checks were going towards his treatment, leaving Clover's meager earnings to cover living expenses and attempt to pay off her father's debt. Luckily, the people he owed money too hadn't come knocking quite yet, but that didn't stop Clover from sliding her pistol under her bed just in case.

Although the two things were in no way connected, Clover couldn't help but feel as if that night all those months ago was a catalyst for her current situation. Everything had gone downhill so quickly after that day. Clover had been constantly on edge, waiting for the man in green to come after her in retribution for what she had witnessed. More crimes had been committed later that week, and the man had made an appearance at a play in uptown Gotham and a graduation ceremony for police cadets. Clover had made it a top priority to get her hands on any newspaper that mentioned him.

Apparently the man's name was Edward Nygma, but he went by the alias "The Riddler", and as strange as it might sound, he was deadly. According to multiple stories, he had started off as the Forensic Examiner at the GCPD, then transferred into a riddle themed life of crime after murdering a cop and a woman. From there he had been sentenced to rehabilitation at Arkham Asylum and left the joint with a certificate claiming that he was now sane. After that he had worked closely with former Mayor Cobblepot, and then he went on to commit the string of murders that Clover had somehow become involved in. Little had she known that she was witnessing the debut of The Riddler on that cold night.

What she managed to glean from all her resources was that the man was a grade A psycho. A genius in his own right, but completely bonkers. For weeks Clover had lived in fear of The Riddler coming after her, but he never appeared. Eventually she began to loosen up, finally leaving her house without her father's switchblade up her sleeve. And after her father lost his job, Clover had much more important things to worry about. It was clear the wacko had more important things to do, and Clover wasn't going to complain. If anything, she was more likely to get struck by some petty thief than entangled in the plans of The Riddler again.

Clover snorted a little bit as the next customer walked up. As frightening as the man was, someone using the moniker "The Riddler" was just asking to be laughed at. At least his little gimmick that night finally made sense to Clover. He asked riddles because he had some sort of fixation on intelligence. Clover could understand placing brains above brawn, but his actions took things a little too far in her opinion.

Clover didn't realize a customer was standing in front of her until the woman began to order.

"Yes hi, I would like an espresso please, two extra shots." The woman said in a nasally, high pitched voice that grated on Clover's ears.

Clover glanced up at the woman, her eyes slowly roving from the woman's tacky attire to her face. She was skinny, and an older woman if Clover had to guess. She looked to be in her late 30's, and her hectic fake blonde hair only reinforced the idea. She was rather tall, or at least compared to Clover's own unimpressive height. However, she did have the aid of some pretty painful looking stiletos. Everything about this woman reeked of "crazy cat lady", but Clover always obliged customers whether they creeped her out or not.

"Of course," She said, punching the woman's order in, "that'll be $4.50."

The woman gave her a tight lipped smile and swiped her card. Luckily, she didn't complain about the price.

Clover's day carried on much in the same way. There was an annoying customer every once in awhile, but things were quiet for the most part. She took a break at around four and walked to the sandwich shop across the street, enjoying a hot ham sandwich before returning to work. By the time the shop closed at 8, early on Sundays, Clover was happily closing up shop. She was exhausted, but contented herself with the dream of hot tea when she got home. The kettle set she'd received on her eighteenth birthday had faithfully held out for many years, and she was hoping to milk it for a few more.

After locking the front doors, Clover gave them a solid pat before turning on her heel towards home. She adjusted her scarf so that her mouth and nose were tucked beneath it. Now only her eyes stung from the gusts, tears quickly forming from the sting only to be blown away. Luckily the coffee shop Clover worked at wasnt in the Narrows, so walking out of it at night wasn't too much of a risk. If Clover found herself working a late shift, much like tonight, she would make her way towards the bus stop and ride public transport home. Usually she didn't encounter too much trouble after getting off the bus, considering that her stop was only a block or two after from her apartment. It was a very fortunate arrangement to have.

Clover jolted as she heard a noise emanate from a nearby alleyway, her fingers instantly wrapping around the blade situated on the inside of her coat. She paused for a moment, waiting with baited breath for another sound.

"Psst! Over here!" A vaguely familiar voice called. Clover felt like she was in some sort of horror movie as a shadowy figure stepped out of the alley and into the street light.

Clover raised an eyebrow as the face of the person became clear. It was the woman who had come into the coffee shop earlier, the one with the annoying voice. Clover would have laughed if she wasn't so damn frightened. Instead of standing there like a deer in headlights, she decided the best course of action would be to just pick up the pace. As Clover passed the woman, she heard the uneven clacking of heels as the woman attempted to catch up.

"Wait please, it's me, I came into the coffee shop you work at earlier! My name is Myrtle, Myrtle Jenkins!" The woman exclaimed as she attempted to catch up to Clover.

"Yeah, I remember you. Unfortunately I'm off the clock right now, so whatever you want, I can't help you." Clover said in an irritated tone. She felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder, and quickly jerked around to face the woman, the blade in her hand glinting in the moonlight.

The woman backed away looking startled. She slowly raised her hands up in a non-threatening position, her empty palms exposed to Clover. The woman, Myrtle apparently, was still breathing erratically from their "chase". Yet somehow, being threatened with a knife still wasn't deterring her.

"Please, please listen. I have a... business proposition for you."

Clove couldn't help but balk at the first implication that came into her mind. Was this lady trying to solicit her for…

Before her thoughts could go any further, Myrtle piped up again. "Just hear me out. I have a job for you that could earn you a lot of money. I noticed how miserable you looked at your job today. Don't tell me you couldn't use some cash."

Clover knew, _she knew_ , that hearing this crazy lady's proposition out was a bad idea. But the mention of money was too intriguing to her desperate wallet.

"How much money are we talking." Clover asked hesitantly, slowly lowering her knife.

The woman gave her a little smirk. "How does $1000 dollars sound?"

Clover's first reaction was to balk, but it was immediately followed by suspicion. No one who pays that kind of money for a job has an easy task in mind. Whatever this seemingly harmless lady wanted done, it was risky no doubt

Despite her reservations, Clover's interest had been peaked, and there was no going back. "What's the job" She asked in a deadpan voice.

"I need to...steal something...and it's located in a place that I need to get into. You ever heard of the Iceberg Lounge?"

Clover had only heard of it briefly and didn't know much about the establishment, but nodded anyways.

"Well there's something there I need, but I can't get in. Every time I attempt to, the bouncers turn me away. But you, you're still young and beautiful, there's no doubt in my mind that you can get inside."

The woman was speaking so fast and erratically that it was hard for Clover to follow, but she got the gist. Although she suspected that the real reason Myrtle couldn't get in was her general aura of craziness

"What would I do once I got inside?" Clover asked, still astonished that she was entertaining the ramblings of this crazy woman.

"There's a back entrance to the club in the kitchen. All I need you to do is unlock it and let me in. After that, you're free to go. Easy peasy"

Clover couldn't believe what she was hearing. Some stranger she had just met was going to pay her $1000 to go into a club and open a door? It was almost too be good to be true. No, scratch that, it was too good to be true.

"If the job is so easy, why are you paying $1000 dollars to get it done?" Clover asked skeptically.

Slowly, a somewhat dazed look came over Myrtle's eyes as she seemed to be thinking deeply about something. Finally she took a deep breath and snapped out of her reverie.

"What I need from that lounge is priceless. The job may or may not be risky, depending on who's there that night. If $1,000 dollars is what gets the job done, then so be it. So are you in or not?"

Clover's eyebrows knitted together in a contemplating look. $1000 was more than she made in a month, and though it wouldn't pay off her father's debt, it was a definitely a start. But would she really assist someone in a _crime_ just for some extra cash? The thought of money flashed through her mind. Then again, she wouldn't really be committing the crime. She'd only be opening a back door, and that was no crime (it would technically make her an accomplice but that was only an afterthought). As Clover took a deep breath and stared at Myrtle's outstretched hand, _his_ words echoed through her head again. ' _You should probably run…'_

But who was gonna take advice from somebody called "The Riddler"?

Clover slid her hand into Myrtle's, yanking her hand up and down twice before pulling back as if she had been burned.

A satisfied smile came across Myrtle's face as she took out a piece of paper with some words scribbled on it. "Come to this address tomorrow at 10 o'clock, and bring something fancy to wear. Make sure you look presentable."

Clover nodded silently, pocketing the piece of paper and giving Myrtle one last glance before walking off into the night.

' _What the hell did I just agree to?'_ Clover thought as she continued her journey towards the bus stop.

Clover stared into her closet in deep contemplation over what to wear. Her arms were outstretched, each hand clenching onto the doorframe, knuckles turning white with the exertion. There had been a time, long ago, when she'd be having this problem for a very different reason. In a past life, past Clover would be moaning about how she "just had too many dresses" and didn't know how she could possibly make a decision. Now she was limited to only two options.

The first of the only two dresses she owned was a yellow sundress dotted with white flowers. Clover had bought it at a boutique when she was 15 and then proceeded to not wear it for 5 years. It was in pretty good condition, but Clover had no idea if it was appropriate club attire. Admittedly, she'd never been a huge fan of nightlife. She'd never had the type of friends who wanted to drag her out partying (she'd never had many friends at all), and she wasn't one to go by herself. Clover didn't know much about the Iceberg Lounge or how fancy the patrons there usually dressed, but something told her a sundress made for a teenager would not get her passed the bouncer.

The second dress hanging in Clover's closet had never been worn, or at least not by Clover. The dress had belonged to her mom, and though Clover had never thought she would wear it, she couldn't bare to part with it. It was a deep purple colored dress with a sweetheart neckline and straps that perched themselves just outside the collar bone. Clover felt some reluctance in wearing it, but it was definitely a step above the sundress.

Clover removed her work uniform and slowly slid the dress on. Fortunately, her mother had a fairly similar figure to hers, and the dress fit fairly well. Clover glanced at herself in the old dusty mirror leaning against the wall. The dress came down to her knees and hugged her hips tighter than she would have liked. Clover tried not to dwell too long on her reflection, knowing that the longer she looked the more flaws she'd find. She then went about applying her makeup in a fairly simple yet elegant way. In a way, it was fun to do her own makeup again. It wasn't something she had really had the energy to do in months, and it somehow made things feel more normal.

After she had finished, Clover slipped into a pair of glossy black heels. They were practical little things, far from the stilettos that Myrtle had been wearing. Clover glanced at her watch, noting that the time was 7:15. For a brief moment, Clover worried about what her father might think if he saw her exiting the house dressed the way she was. Luckily, a few moments later she heard his voice coming from outside her door.

"I'm going to the bar Clove, don't wait up!" He called as his feet thudded down the hall and the door slammed closed.

Clover desperately wanted to tell him to stay home, because her father going out on the town would only lead to him getting in trouble. But she couldn't stop him, he was her father after all. Even after becoming an adult, she was still acting subservient to him. Sighing, she caught her own empty gaze in the mirror for a moment before picking up her purse and leaving the house, making sure to lock the door firmly. Luckily it wasn't dark yet, and though she heard a few jeering voices and catcalls from some street thugs, no one attempted to seriously harass Clover.

Clover was surprised to find that the address, which she assumed was Myrtle's home, was located in a relatively nicer part of the Narrows. Of course it was still the Narrows, but there were a few less potholes so it was fairly classy in Clover's standards. She trudged up the steps to the apartment and knocked on the door firmly. After a few moments the door swung open and Myrtle was standing there.

The first thing Myrtle did was look Clover up and down with a pensive expression that soon evolved to one of disgust. "You are not wearing that." She said before yanking Clover inside.

All Clover wanted to do at that point was pry the woman's cold talons off of her forearm. ' _Like you know anything about fashion.'_ Clover thought, eyeing Myrtle's get up distastefully.

Just as Clover was working up the courage to hit the woman, her anger was replaced by confusion as she glanced around the apartment. However nice it had looked on the outside was completely betrayed by the inside. The place was dimly lit and looked like a hoarder was its resident. Things from clothing scraps to mannequin torsos lay scattered around the apartment. Something large and black lay on an old wicker chair.

"Is that… a blow torch?" Clover asked incredulously.

Myrtle, continuing to drag Clover towards a closet, paid no attention to the astonishment in her voice. "Yep, it'll come in handy for what I have planned tonight."

Clover tried not to gulp too obviously. Just how nuts was this lady?

Myrtle finally released her when they made it over to the closet, then furiously began to tear through the countless items of clothing hanging in the closet. She began to talk as she did so.

"I assumed that when I said to bring something fancy that you actually… had something fancy. But no matter, I have just the thing!"

Clover fiddled with the hem of her dress self consciously. She didn't know whether to be offended by Myrtle's criticism or frightened that she was going to make her wear something from her wardrobe.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" She asked, trying to sound rather nonchalant.

"Oh, it's a very pretty dress, but The Iceberg Lounge is a very classy establishment and you won't be able to get in unless you look the part. Luckily I do have an old piece and some jewelry that would look splendid on you. Aha! There it is!"

As Myrtle yanked a dress out of the depths of her messy closet, Clover could only pray that it wasn't some obscene thing like every other dress there. Luckily, the entire item was a solid black color, which was a start. It looked to be a form fitting dress by the shape, but Clover supposed she wouldn't know unless she tried it on.

"There's a bathroom over there. Go ahead while I go get you some shoes and jewelry." Myrtle said before dashing off to go find something.

Clover walked over to the bathroom and locked the door before stripping. She carefully folded up her mother's dress and set it on the countertop, then slid into the black dress. Surprisingly, considering their height difference, the length of Myrtle's dress was a bit short for Clover's tastes. It stopped a little bit above mid thigh, and the part of Clover that still resided in the influence of her conservative upbringing snorted at how this thing could be called "classy". While the length was unexpected, the way the dress fit her way not. Myrtle was a very skinny woman, and though Clover wasn't the curviest woman in the world, it was clear that she had more in that aspect than Myrtle.

Clover couldn't help but balk at how her cleavage was very evident over the off the shoulder neckline of the dress. She cringed at the pudge of her belly showing as she angled herself to the side. Though she despised the way the dress hugged every single one of her flaws, Clover did have to admit that it was far club-esque than her mother's dress. After staring at her reflection a little longer and giving her mother's dress a forlorn look, Clover sighed and exited the bathroom.

Myrtle was waiting on the couch with a pair of silver heels and some jewelry resting beside her. Her eyes lit up when she saw Clover.

"Oh I knew that would look good on you! That was the dress I wore to my first junior high dance. I always like to keep clothing just in case it can be scrapped for one of my new creations!"

Clover didn't know whether to laugh at the fact that she fit perfectly into a dress bought in junior high, or that Myrtle actually created all the monstrosities she called clothing. Either way, it was humorous.

As Myrtle stood up and began to size her up, Clover spoke.

"Listen, if you want me to do this, you're gonna have to pay me now. If things go wrong, I want the money upfront."

Myrtle raised an eyebrow. "I'll give you half now, no more, no less. You get the other half after I'm inside the lounge."

If Clover had been a bolder person she would have argued, but instead she simply nodded and accepted the $500 Myrtle handed to her silently. If all went well, she would be seeing the other $500 very soon.

After a little tweaking and a bit of coaching from Myrtle as Clover attempted to walk in her stilettos, it was finally time to put their plan into action. By the time they arrived at the club it was dark, probably around 11:30. Myrtle stopped Clover a block away from the entrance, just out of sight from the bouncer. Clover's heart was pounding at the thought of what she was about to do, but Myrtle seemed unfazed.

"Okay so you know the plan right? The club closes at 2 tonight, so you get in. mingle a little bit, and then open that back door so I can slip in before the club closes. You can exit through the door when you let me in. Okay?"

Clover nodded stiffly, trying to ignore the condescending way Myrtle had explained the plan to her. She wasn't a dolt, she could complete a simple task. Myrtle patted her on the back swiftly and sent Clover on her way.

As she approached the line to enter the club, Clover tried to remember to walk confidently, like she was a high end socialite that regularly frequented this type of establishment. But after looking around at the other patrons, it felt glaringly obvious to Clover that she didn't belong. Compared to these millionaires decked out in designer brands, Clover looked like a child playing dress up. It was evident that she wouldn't even make it passed the front door. Yet, despite everything in her screaming that this was a futile task, Clover knew she had to persist. It was for her father after all, the only true family she had left.

After anxiously waiting for what seemed to be forever, Clover approached the bouncer. He was what one would typically expect from a bouncer, tall, buff, and an expression that was colder than ice. And by the dismissive way he looked at Clover, it was clear she wasn't getting anywhere with him.

"No entry for you." He said gruffly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

' _I still have to try…'_ Clover thought, trying to quell her nervous shaking.

"Um...My friends are in there, please let me through they'll be worried if I don't show up.

The bouncer just shook his head, and Clover sighed dejectedly. There was no way she was getting in. Just as she prepared to move out of line, a voice stopped her.

"Well don't be leavin' so fast beautiful." A voice spoke behind her.

Clover turned around to find that it was the man behind her in line speaking. He was a portly little man, looking to be mid 40's and a very obvious toupee perched on his head. Two identical looking blonde women were latched onto his arms, their breasts practically spilling out of low neckline tops. Clover tried not to look too disgusted. He reeked of cologne and cigarettes.

He approached her slowly, the two blondes at his sides giving her sneers and the bouncer still deadly quiet. Clover coughed a little when she saw the man's eyes travel up and down her body, his gaze lingering on her chest. Finally he looked her in the eyes.

"Ay, you're a, you're one of them Chinese broads ain't ya?"

Clover tried not to look surprised. Her grandmother had been Japanese and her mother had been mixed, so while generally people could tell Clover's heritage if she informed them of it, most people simply assumed she was white. Due to her mother's disconnection with her family, Clover had been raised in a very westernized home with little influence from her mother's family's culture. She was surprised that he could pick up on the small traces of her Japanese features, even though he'd ignorantly put her under the category of Chinese.

"I uh...yes I am!" Clover exclaimed upon a sudden realization. Maybe she could get in with this man if he took an interest in her.

The man gave her a smug smile, a gold tooth catching the light in the back of his mouth.

"I always wanted me an exotic dame. Hey Rocco, why don't ya let the gal in? She's with me." He said, shooting Clover a wink.

She gave him a tentative smile back. Luckily, the man seemed to hold some standing with Rocco, and the bouncer allowed them in after a moment of consideration. Clover followed the man and his ladies into the club, the scent of alcohol and smoke filling her lungs immediately as she entered. She had made it in, now she just had to last the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**So the chapter updates have been coming really quick on here because I posted them a few weeks earlier on my Ao3, but I should be caught up now. A quick few notes about this chapter: In the original episode it's based on, Myrtle is seen going into the club during the day, but I had to change the timing to fit my plans. That being said, when I include canon events in my story, they'll usually be altered in some way to either fit my plot or add in information never revealed in the show. But hopefully with where the story is heading, I won't have to do that for too long. Anyways, thank you to everyone who has read this far and I really hope you enjoy!**

The first thing that struck Clover about the Iceberg Lounge, was the classy atmosphere of the joint. Like, classier than any place she'd been before. The booths were made of a dark red velvety plush, and the luxurious curtains looked thick and heavy with woven tassels decorating them Clover was currently seated in a back room with accompanied business man she entered with, but she could just make out a bar and some type of ice sculpture through the curtains of their enclosed booth. Formally clad people lounged in the main lobby, their tittering laughs resounding out over the backdrop of a piano's smooth sound. Clover's father would never believe where she was right now.

Clover swirled the liquid in her drink nervously, her hand clenching the delicate flute of the glass as she attempted to ignore the hungry gaze of the man sitting across from her. After entering the club, the two blondes had wanted to dance, beckoning the man to follow along with them. He simply ushered them off, claiming that he wanted some alone time with his guest. From then on he had attempted to make what Clover guessed was his idea of a rousing conversation. He asked her countless empty questions about "her native country of China." Though she desperately wanted to call him out on his ignorance, the fear of getting thrown out was too strong. But as the urge to slam her head repeatedly against the table grew stronger, Clover knew she had to find a way to get escape from his presence.

After a few more minutes of silence and unnerving stares from the man, he finally spoke up.

"Ya know, I never did ask ya what your name was."

Clover really didn't want the man knowing what to call her, nickname or real name, so she quickly decided on a fake one.

"My name's Jessica." She said demurely, trying to give him what felt like a flirtatious smile. To say that Clover was out of her depth would be an understatement.

The man gave her a dopey look of surprise. "No kidding huh? I thought you'da be named Ching Chong or some shit."

Clover didn't think she'd ever wanted to punch someone as much as she wanted to punch him at that moment. Fortunately for her, she hadn't drank enough at this point to lose her self control and actually act on her violent impulse. However, she had drank enough to make a realistic plea for a trip to the bathroom. That would be her daring escape plan.

Clover gave him an uneasy smile as he laughed at his little joke. "Excuse me but I need to use the bathroom, I'll be right back." She said, giving him no room to argue.

As she stood up and walked away, Clover felt the man's eyes on her. A disgusted shiver rolled down her spine as her pace quickened, despite the pain in her feet.

"Stupid heels." Clover mumbled as she opened the bathroom door.

It was quiet and empty inside the bathroom, which Clover was thankful for. It gave her some time to clear her head. As she stood in front of the large mirror she glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was almost 1, which meant the club would be closing in an hour. Clover's plan was to wait in the bathroom until the club closed, then make her way into the kitchen and let Myrtle in. However, it was still too early to put her plan into action, and being alone in the restroom for so long was sure to cause suspicion. So with a deep breath, Clover pushed the heavy door open again and reentered the party.

She'd already decided she wasn't going back to sit with that man, so Clover made her way over to the bar instead. Maybe she'd be able to get a real drink instead of the fruity martinis the business man had insisted on. Heaven knows she could use a real drink right now. Clover made her way over to the bar, careful not to brush up against any of the other patrons or pull any attention to herself. The last thing she needed was another sleazy rich person trying to talk her into coming home with them. She'd had just about enough of that, thank you very much.

On her way over to the bar, the glinting of the ice sculpture caught her eye, or at least Clover thought it was an ice sculpture. All she could see over the heads of the crowd was the top of a chunk of ice. During the brief moments she could see in between the moving crowd, she could make out a dark figure at the center of the ice. Not for the first time, Clover cursed herself for being so short. She would have to get closer in order to see what it was.

She slowly pushed her way through the crowd, maneuvering through countless drunk couples and mingling socialites. Luckily, she only managed to bump into a few people who gave her some affronted looks, only to dismiss her quickly as if she were a bug. She imagined them stating in a disgustingly posh accent, "By heavens, what is this riff-raff doing in such an establishment, I shall have my refund at once!" Clover supposed their thoughts on her were fair. These people were recognizable to anyone in Gotham and she was virtually a nobody. She tried not to let their glares sting too much.

As she finally closed in on the ice, Clover was even more intrigued by what she saw. Everyone seemed to be giving the "sculpture" a wide berth, and she could see why. It was a pillar of ice, tall enough to reach the ceiling and radiating frigid clouds of steam that made her shiver even from a few feet away. Clover could see the cold air curling off of the ice, dissipating into the air in thick waves. The lights above were rigged so that the sculpture refracted the light and almost seemed to be glowing in a crystalline way. Instead of being illuminated, the structure seemed to emit its own unearthly glow. It was amazing how etheral a simple block of ice could look. Even more compelling, however, was what stood frozen on the inside of the ice.

Clover had to blink a few times to make sure she was seeing things clearly. There was a… man inside the ice. An actual man, inside the ice. It was if he was a person frozen in time. The man's body was standing upright, with one arm stretched out. It looked almost as if he was… pleading. A cold feeling that wasn't an effect of the nearby ice began to settle in the pit of Clover's stomach. Her eyes moved up to the man's face, and any present thought in her head promptly ceased to exist.

It was that man, Edward Nygma. His face was mid shout, as if he had been screaming for his life when he was frozen. His expression was one of shock and dreadful anticipation. It mirrored the way Clover had felt all those nights ago. But there was no sense of smug satisfaction in Clover's heart when she recognized the irony of the situation. There was no justified glee at the realization that their roles were swapped, and that he was now the one who was afraid. There was only an alarming feeling of dread creeping up the back of her spine. She was about to aide in the robbery of this club. This club, which had a frozen criminal displayed in the middle like a prize. Or a warning. If this is what had been done to him, for whatever thing he'd done to anger the owner, she could only imagine what would be done to her. She had to get out of here.

Before she could turn around and leave without ever looking back, Clover felt a presence next to her. A voice spoke with the kind of self satisfaction that can only belong to someone who's achieved something they've dreamed about.

"Awe inspiring, isn't it?"

Clover did her best not to jolt, but the surprised look in her eyes betrayed her. Standing next to Clover was a man who looked too familiar for all the worst reasons. His icy blue eyes and hooked nose gave him away as Oswald Cobblepot, known better under his criminal alias "Penguin". All of sudden, Clover realized why the Iceberg Lounge had sounded vaguely familiar to her. She had read about its grand opening about a week earlier when she caught a glimpse of the headline in her father's morning paper. She wished she'd paid more attention to her father's passing comment about the gangsters that ran the joint.

"It's certainly… something" Clover replied, her voice quivering.

Cobblepot's gaze rested on the ice for a few more moments. His expression was fairly blank, but Clover thought that she could see the barest hint of a cruel smile at the edge of his mouth. After a moment, he turned back to Clover, his expression now one of a hospitable host. Clover's eyes widened a hint more. The man really did resemble a bird!

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of meeting. I'm Oswald Cobblepot, the proprietor of this establishment, and you are?"

His question seemed polite enough, but there was a frost beginning to gather in his eyes. If anyone could spot that Clover didn't belong here, it would be this man.

Clover flashed him a wide smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Cobblepot. I'm Jessica, Jessica Brown."

Cobblepot nodded, his eyes assessing her like a particularly picky DMV instructor who was about to fail her. "I see." He paused for a moment, looking apprehensive. "I'll be honest Ms. Brown, I approached you because I saw you come in with Mr. Goodman." He gestured towards the table where the business man sat. If the way he was groping the two blondes was any indication, he wasn't missing Clover's company too much.

Cobblepot continued. "If you'd allow me to be quite frank, you're not quite like the usual...associates...he brings in here. I'm just simply curious about your relation to Mr. Goodman."

' _You mean I'm not as hot as his regular "associates" are.'_ Clover thought bitterly. She was well aware that she was no model, but being compared to the other women in the room didn't do anything to help her self esteem.

Clover could tell Cobblepot was sizing her up, but she didn't understand if it was because he thought she was trouble, or if he was only genuinely interested in who she was. Clover assumed it was the former, considering that a man of his stature probably didn't bother with things like basic curiosity when he was busy running a club.

"Well you see…" Clover supposed she could just tell the truth about how she encountered Mr. Goodman, but that might earn her a ticket straight out of the club. "I only met Mr. Goodman recently at a charity gala." ' _That's a thing rich people do, right?'_

Cobblepot's right eyebrow twitched minutely. "Oh really? Which one? Perhaps I was also in attendance."

Clover thanked her lucky stars that she read the newspaper often enough to know when some hotshot gala occured. "It was the Wayne gala last week. The one raising money for the ongoing repairs at Gotham University." She gave out a little sigh and gave the sleazy businessman in the distance an enamored look. " Mr. Goodman was so handsome that night..." She tried not to cringe as he began to pick something out of his teeth.

Clover held her breath as she watched Cobblepot's stony face. After a second or two, his suspicion seemed to alleviate a little bit. He was buying it.

"Interesting. And what is it the finds you straying away from Mr. Goodman tonight?"

Clover could tell she was getting good at the whole lying thing, because the answer popped into her mind straight away.

"Well I was just interested by the ice display if I'm being honest. It's not everyday that you see a man frozen in an ice sculpture."

' _Especially the man who burned down your university.'_ Clover thought.

"Well," Cobblepot said after an amused chuckle, "the story behind this piece is quite intriguing."

Clover nodded for him to go on, though she had a feeling that hearing the story might only put her more on edge.

"Well you see, poor Ed was suffering from a terrible brain disease, one for which there is no cure." Cobblepot explained, a forlorn look on his face. " He begged me to preserve his body so that, when the cure was found, he could be reanimated and treated. Of course I had my reservations, but how could I say no to my dear friend?"

Clover couldn't believe that Cobblepot actually thought anyone would buy that story. One look at the man in ice's face and it was clear that this hadn't been done to him of his own volition. Clover wasn't even sure if this method of cryogenics worked. She had heard rumors of working long term stasis in crazy government labs, but freezing someone in a block of ice just sounded preposterous. Although, someone had to be believing it if Cobblepot had gotten this far. But not Clover, she knew better at this point. Nygma had worked for Cobblepot during his brief stint as mayor, so it was plausible that he could have offed Nygma for knowing too much, or getting on his bad side.

"Wow...that is an intriguing story. Poor man, hopefully they find the cure someday."

"Yes, hopefully one day poor Ed will return to us." Cobblepot said, an air of disinterest creeping into his tone. It was clear that he had grown tired of this conversation with Clover. Now that his suspicion had passed, he had no reason to continue talking to her, or even acknowledging her existence.

"I'm afraid I must attend to other things now. It was wonderful making your acquaintance Ms. Brown. Perhaps we'll meet again soon." Oswald said, shooting Clover a tight lipped smile.

"It was lovely meeting you too. Have a good evening Mr. Cobblepot." Clover called as she watched his retreating form hobble back into the crowd. She was still reeling from the fact that she'd come face to face with the Penguin, and lived.

Clover took a few steadying breaths, then glanced back towards the ice. Unfortunately for her nerves, Nygma was still there, the terrified look on his face never wavering. It was almost as if he was an omen of warning from the universe. A final plea from fate for her to turn back. ' _You should probably run…'_ The words echoed through her head.

"Shut up." Clover whispered harshly through her clenched jaw, giving the man a withering glare.

She needed this money, now more than ever. Her dad was depending on her, and Clover had already let him down too much to fail again. Besides, she had not put up with that sleazy old business man for hours to give up so easily. Clover's heated gaze cooled into one of determination.

"I'm going to do this. You'll see." She mumbled more to herself than the frozen man. Maybe if he had been alive to hear her, he would have smirked and offered her a cocky "good luck" But unfortunately, the only response Edward Nygma could offer her was the same expression he'd been wearing for who knows how long. So with new resolution, Clover turned away from him and began to enact her plan.

After loitering around a bit more, Clover finally heard Cobblepot announce that the bar was closing and all patrons would leave the bar. After scoping out the bathroom earlier, Clover decided her best bet was to hide in the cabinet beneath the ornate sinks located in the bathroom. It wasn't necessarily a full proof plan, or even a good one at that, but it was the only feasible hiding place she could think of. Luckily, Clover had been on the gymnastics team in highschool and was more flexible than your average undercover thief. She was able to squeeze herself into a precarious position inside the cabinet, placing rolls of toilet paper in front of her and arching her back around the pipe extending from the sink. Now all she had to do was wait.

Clover could hear the sounds of patrons subsiding as they exited the club, and soon there were only a few voices left. Clover thought she could recognize Cobblepot's, but wasn't keen on emerging from her hiding spot to find out. She eventually heard the thuds of footsteps enter the bathroom, and the sound of stall doors being pushed open. She held her breath as she listened to the person rummage around.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour of tense waiting, Clover heard the beep of a walky-talky.

"All clear boss, we're good to lock up for the night." A gruff voice said, footsteps fading away as the click of a lightswitch signified his exit.

Clover allowed a gust of air to escape from her lungs as she sat hunched inside the cabinet. For good measure, she let what she estimated to be 15 minutes pass before she cautiously pushed open the cabinet doors. Clover felt her joints pop and her muscles sigh in relief as she finally stood up. It was pitch dark on account of the lights being off, so Clover groped around blindly in the dark until she found the door. Ever so slowly, she twisted the doorknob and reentered the club.

Luckily, the streetlight streaming in from the large windows illuminated the club enough for Clover to navigate. She took a few steps in before removing her heels slowly, paranoid by the clacking noise that echoed in the empty space when she walked. With slow precise steps, Clover made her way past the grotesque ice sculpture towards the kitchen. She shuddered as she passed the ice tomb. Even with the power off, the thing still seemed to glow like a dying star.

Clover fumbled her way through the darkened kitchen, not confident enough to turn on the light and risk the attention of any late night guards. The rich smell of food still permeated through the air, and Clover could hear her stomach gurgle loudly. Maybe she'd use some of her payment to pick up a burger after this was over.

After reaching what she presumed was the back door, Clover held her breath and slowly pulled it open, waiting for some kind of alarm. When none came, she carefully peeked her head out into the frigid Gotham night. The door had opened to a back alleyway with a few dumpsters and the standard graffiti that accompanied every other wall in Gotham. Clover glanced in both directions. Both were devoid of people.

"Myrtle?" She whispered quietly, an uneasy feeling beginning to pool in her stomach.

Suddenly, a scuffling noise clanked from inside one of the dumpsters. Before Clover could think to slam the door shut, out popped one very disheveled looking Myrtle Jenkins. Clover balked at her, wide eyed.

"Oh good, I was getting worried that you were caught. That would not have been good." Myrtle said as she hoisted herself over the edge of the dumpster.

If Clover had been a little less urgent she might've questioned why Myrtle had felt the need to wait in a dumpster, but Clover honestly just wanted to get her money and get out.

Myrtle eagerly passed Clover, her equipment held tightly in her hands. However, Clover grabbed her shoulder before she could get too far.

"I believe you owe me the other half of my pay."

Myrtle gave Clover an annoyed look, before fishing through her pocket for a wad of cash and thrusting it at Clover.

"There you go, happy now? Your end of the bargain is over, and you're free to go." Myrtle gave Clover a dismissive look, ready to leave her be once and for all, but Clover wasn't quite finished yet. Her burning curiosity had reared its ugly head again, and Clover had to have her final question answered to gain any closer on this whole night.

"Wait!"

Myrtle turned back around in a huff. "Well what is it? I don't exactly have all night."

"What is it that you could possibly want to steal from The Penguin. What's valuable enough to risk your life?" Clover asked, almost dreading the answer.

Myrtle's face was blank for a moment, before a dreamy look came over her. She gave Clover a delirious smile.

"I'm saving the love of my life Clover. I'm saving my Eddie."

Clover could only furrow her eyebrows in shock as Myrtle darted off, the door closing with a resounding thud as she backed away. Suddenly the blowtorch in Myrtle's apartment made perfect sense. Her plan was to somehow thaw Nygma out. Clover had expected something crazy from the woman, but this was far beyond her expectations. Not only was she crossing one of the most powerful of Gotham's crime bosses, but she was rescuing a man responsible for countless murders and crimes. And all in the name of "love".

Clover wanted to puke right then and there in the alleyway, but decided she'd better leave as soon as possible. She wedged her money in the only available space to contain it, her bra, and carefully withdrew the tiny blade she had stashed inside her left shoe. The blade couldn't have been more than a few inches long, but the last thing Clover needed right now was to be robbed. The streets seemed to be fairly empty, but Clover didn't relax in the slightest until she was seated on the bus. Only then did she let her thoughts wander.

She couldn't help but regret what she had done. Not only had she risked her own skin, but she had essentially set Nygma free. And for what, a thousand dollars? The money felt sickeningly heavy in her pocket, but that did little to counteract the giddy rush of euphoria that surged through her. Despite Clover's moral conflict over taking the money, she couldn't help but feel a little thrill at the thought of what she had just succeeded in.

She had just swindled _The Penguin_. Clover had always gained a little thrill from breaking the rules, but this was farther than she had ever gone before and she _liked_ it. It was the same sort of emotion she had experienced when staying out past her curfew as a teen or making out with boys in the bed of her father's truck after dark, only multiplied by a few thousand. Even though every logical nerve in her mind was sending out synapses of distress, there was a storm of dopamine surging through her. The knowledge that she had gotten away with her little undercover mission sat with a heady warmth in her chest.

And so it was with a new spark kindling in her heart, and a bra full of cash, that Clover stepped off the bus and into the cold Gotham night with. Tomorrow she'd be down from her high, but tonight she would ride out the intoxication of her success. Clover gave a content smile as she turned towards the McDonald's just past the bus stop. She had promised herself a burger, afterall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey everyone, welcome to chapter 4! Please feel free to review if you want, they really**

 **make my day and inspire me to keep going. Enjoy the chapter!**

 **/**

Clover's eyes snapped open as the screeching of tires squealed from outside her window. After a few blaring car horns went off and the aggressive commotion following the unseen incident died down, she groaned and rolled over so her face was buried in her pillow. It wasn't uncommon for Clover to be awoken in the wee hours of the morning by the bustle of the street corner below, but it was still irritating nonetheless. She lifted her head to peer at her alarm clock, then quickly shot out of bed. It was already 7:45, and her shift started at 8.

Clover cursed herself as she hastily threw her uniform on while simultaneously attempting to run a brush through her tangled hair. It seemed that she had forgotten to set her alarm after returning the night before. Clover grumbled obscenities as she checked the clock again, slipping into the beaten up sneakers she wore to work.

After giving her teeth a vigorous thirty second scrub, Clover flung her toothbrush on the counter and dashed through the apartment, snatching her keys off the counter. The TV screen was silent was devoid of color, as sure sign that her father had already left for the day, or never returned from the night before. Clover's heart ached a little at the thought of him being in trouble, but chastised herself for the illogical worry. Most likely he was passed out at a bar somewhere, dazed from a night of shooting darts and drinking booze.

After firmly locking her door, Clover rushed down to the bus stop. As the cold air rushed over her, she longed to turn around and retrieve her jacket. Unfortunately, she didn't have the time. After waiting for a few minutes at the bus stop, Clover was seated on the bus once again, feeling very different from when she last sat there the night before.

A jolt of excitement ran through her again at the thought of last night's events. The smell of champagne still tingled at her senses, and the sense of impending danger was fading into an excited buzz. Clover knew that the second she was put in that situation again the fear would return, but when she reminisced it was almost as if she had just been another club goer enjoying herself. The beat of her heart as she had hid under the sink was like the beat of music, and tiptoeing through the silent club was a quiet dance. She was sad to admit that that time only existed in her memories now.

Soon, Clover arrived at the coffee shop. Her boss had been quick to reprimand her for being late, but quicker to forgive her considering her impeccable record of being on time. After that little bit of excitement at the beginning of her shift, the rest of it was positively boring compared to the previous night's events.

After a full night of adrenaline pumping through her veins, Clover felt like a druggie going through withdrawal symptoms. Every customer that approached her with their disinterested eyes and bleak voices only pushed her mood lower. She knew she should've been happy to make it out of that predicament with her life and some cash, but all Clover could think about was how tedious these people were. Every monotonous order for a "Espresso with soy milk, two shots of vanilla, extra foam" made Clover want to claw her own ears off even more. Her job had never bothered her before, but every order was almost sickening to listen to.

After a few hours of cashier duty, Clover saw a familiar face approach the register. Her eye twitched in annoyance as the rude man from the day she had met Myrtle approached her. Clover had presumed he wouldn't return based on his reaction to her service, but clearly she was wrong.

Her nose wrinkled slightly at his scent as the man leaned against the counter. He smelled overwhelmingly like cigarette smoke, and possibly old cheese? Despite her distaste for him, Clover made an attempt to be polite.

"Hello sir, how can I help you?" She asked as he paid her no attention whatsoever, his eyes fixed on the menu.

"Yea… I'll have a plain espresso please." He drawled slowly, his eyes slowly panning down to stare at her after a moment.

Clover tried to keep from shivering as she felt his eyes look her up and down slowly. His gaze expressed what might have looked lustful in a younger man, but simply looked starved in a patchy man of his age. Clover grit her teeth. She'd had her fair share of creepy customers, but his scrutiny reminded her too much of the sleazy Mr. Goodman.

"Alright sir, that'll be three dollars." Clover said as she punched the order in.

The man slowly retrieved a few bills from his pocket and placed them down on the counter. Clover was grateful that he had done so without complaining about the price like last time. As she reached her hand out to take the money, her eyes widened as she felt his large hand grab hers roughly. She attempted to pull away, but the man simply pulled her closer. She could feel her the counter digging into her hips as he yanked her wrist closer. Clover did her best to look anywhere but into his cold eyes.

"You gotta man baby? Cuz I'm betting you ain't got no one to go home to after your shift." He whispered it gruffly into her ear, and Clover was frozen with fear.

Her eyes darted around, trying to figure out why no one had come to her rescue yet. Unfortunately, the few customers in the shop had their heads buried in books or were otherwise occupied. Her manager was nowhere in sight. A frantic feeling bloomed in Clover's stomach, akin to how she had felt when dealing with Cobblepot the previous night.

"Sir, I-I think you should leave." She said, her voice quivering.

The man spoke again, his breath putrid. "Only if I get a promise to see you , tonight"

Clover waited another moment, mentally pleading for anyone to intervene. Then, after a moment, she completely lost whatever cool she had left. Clover took her other hand, which had been firmly planted on the counter, and used it to push the man back firmly. Not expecting this, the man took a took a few fumbling steps back and bumped into a table, sending the vase on it clattering to the floor. The glass decoration shattered from the impact and the noise immediately caught everyone's attention. The cafe patrons looked up from their business questioningly.

"G-get away from me!" Clover exclaimed, her hands shaking. The oppressive weight of the patron's gazes surrounded her. The stares of the customers reminded her too much of the cold eyes belonging to the rich Gothamites.

She heard the kitchen door swing open and footsteps approach the scene.

"What is going on out here?!" Her manager exclaimed, hands planted firmly on his hips.

The man made an accusing gesture towards Clover. "What's going on is your little cashier put her hands on me. Is this really how you treat your customers?!"

The manager's judgemental eyes focused on Clover, and she couldn't take it anymore. His cold blue stare looked just like Cobblepot's. Everything seemed to be repeating, like a bad case of deja vu, except the excitement of the club was gone. Now she was standing before Goodman again, and Penguin was asking her over and over again who she was. Clover began to tremble under the weight of their gazes. Without another word, she quickly turned around and pushed through the kitchen door, making her way to the alley behind the shop.

After breaking through the back door, Clover allowed her legs to give out as she leaned against the brick wall. She was still panting, but it seemed as if a weight had been lifted off her. There were no longer eyes trapping her, only the distant sounds of cars and people. Clover distractedly rubbed her wrist where the man had grabbed her, knowing that a ring of bruises would soon appear there.

Clover flexed her jaw as her panic subsided to frustration. Why had she just froze in there? She could hold a conversation with the most dangerous man in Gotham, but as soon as some low life laid his hand on her she froze like a deer in headlights. Why had she been able formulate a plan to infiltrate a criminal's club, but standing up to a creep had seemed impossible? Clover gripped her wrist harder as she attempted to reason her reaction.

After a little while, Clover heard the back door open and looked up to see her exasperated manager walk out. Mr. Jones was a short, portly man who really bared no resemblance to Cobblepot beyond their shared eye color. So why then, had Clover's mind substituted Cobblepot for him?

The man stood silently for a moment, contemplating Clover's defeated form. She couldn't imagine that she looked very much like a rampaging employee who would attack a customer.

Finally, he spoke in an agitated tone. "Ms. Clein, I'm not sure what's gotten into you."

"Me neither." Clover mumbled under her breath. He continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"Throughout your employment here, you've been a model employee. You've never given me a lick of trouble. So then pray tell me why today, not only are you late, but you physically push a customer?"

Clover desperately wanted to explain what the man had done to her, but she couldn't make the words come out. It was partly due to the fear of him not believing her, but mostly caused by her own confusion at her actions. How could she explain what happened if she herself didn't even know?

She heard Mr. Jones sigh. "Listen, I don't know what's gotten into you, but the only thing saving your ass right now is how good you've been in the past. Take the rest of the day off and sort your shit out, cause you're working overtime tomorrow."

Without another word, Mr. Jones retreated, the sound of the door slamming punctuating his exit.

Clover supposed she should've been happy that she still had a job after the whole fiasco, but all she really felt was was a tired calmness and relief. After all the fear and the anger, all she could manage to do was shutdown. She couldn't even think to be mad about Mr. Jones' harsh words because it felt so much better to just chill out.

After the rapid change of emotions she'd experienced in the last twenty four hours, Clover was glad to have calmed down a little bit. True, she didn't exactly feel pleasant, but she also didn't feel the debilitating fear that had existed inside the cafe. She almost dreaded to have to return the next day. Clover picked herself up slowly, dusting her jeans off as she went.

If she had been given the day off, she might as well spend it productively. She decided to get a sandwich from the shop down the street, then head home to pay some of the bills with her newly earned money. Clover tried to ignore the churning in her stomach at the thought of the money. Her sense of morality had been struggling from what she had done all day, but the logical side of herself reasoned that it was only fair. She had stolen something, but from someone who was a known thief. It was practically karma. No, Clover's logical side knew that it wasn't the infiltration that she was concerned with, but the act of unleashing Edward Nygma upon Gotham once more.

All that man knew was how to destroy. He'd completely decimated Gotham U, and taken her professor's life and countless others with it, all the while having the audacity to sound smug about it. Having the gall to say it was in hopes of finding himself a mentor to guide him. His voice echoed in her memory, sounding a lot more like a lost child without fear fogging her perception.

That was the one part of the situation that Clover had yet to come to grips with. As always, the emotional part of her was quick to call him a heartless psychopath who did what he did out of his own sick enjoyment. But her ever present, and pesky, logical side knew that it didn't quite add up. Would an emotionless sociopath have sounded that desperate? Would he have sounded regretful after saying that he shot his best friend? Clover already knew the answer, but loathed to admit it to herself.

With so many thoughts whirling in her head, Clover didn't realize she was starving until the smell of food hit her as she walked into the sandwich shop. Her stomach gurgled loudly and Clover momentarily pushed her musings aside as she thought of what sandwich to order. Ultimately, she decided on a BLT, and contentedly ate it at one of the little tables set next to the windows. From there she tried to relax and simply watch pedestrians pass by, filing her troubling thoughts away for a later time. She'd had enough conflict for one day.

Clover's eyes flitted between the people outside, analyzing the passing crowd without shame. One of her favorite games as a child was to create stories about the strangers that she watched. Clover's brother also enjoyed the game, but due to their age difference and his greater maturity he always had more realistic views. Clover could remember the time when they'd been playing, and both had spotted a rather plucky looking man walking down the street.

It was obvious that the man was some sort of traveling salesman due to the oversized suitcase he dragged behind him. His tie was a purple that was bit too faded, his pants a bit too tight, and his shoes too big and floppy. Adding in the eccentric coloring of his ensemble, he was too eye catching for young Clover to not take a crack at.

"Oh, what about that guy Zach? I bet he's selling some sort of magical vacuum that can find dust bunnies that are alive! I bet he and his wife live in a shoe, like that one nursery rhyme."

Clover had chuckled at her observation and looked at her brother eagerly for input, but he had a frown etched across his face.

"What is it?" Clover had asked, startled to see her brother's mood change so quickly.

"Clover, I think that man is divorced." Her brother finally said in a blunt tone.

Clover, who was only 8 at the time and unaccustomed to the terrible idea of divorce, gave an astonished gasp.

"Well what would make you think that?!" She asked, not believing in something so horrible.

Her brother replied, "He's not wearing a wedding band, plus he looks sad. Kinda like how mom does after her and dad fight."

It was in that moment that Clover had finally taken a closer look at the man, who was now sitting at the bus stop. She desperately wanted to believe her made up story, but upon closer examination she knew it couldn't be true. Indeed, the man's ring finger was bare and there were dark circles under his eyes. Perhaps his clothes weren't so ill fitting because of his eccentricity, but because they were all he could afford. Clover's eyes had been opened that day, forced to view things through a different perspective.

Clover always thought back to that moment because it changed the way she looked at others. As a child she'd had a very subjective perception of other people. She'd often projected her fantasies onto them and suffered disappointment when they inevitably let her down. But her brother had taught her to look at people a little more clinically, and it was something she'd always thanked him for. But despite gaining a more realistic outlook on life, Clover still enjoyed creating tales for the pedestrians passing by. Though it wasn't a very accurate practice, it was still a good way to pass the time.

Clover searched the passing people for any vulnerabilities or passion that she could weave into a story. The old woman talking agitatedly on her phone was a surgeon rushing in for a medical emergency. The man with tattoos and soft eyes was rushing to dance class. The girl in the purple dress and perpetual frown was going to see a horror movie.

Clover did a double take. Purple dress.

The memory of herself reverently folding her mother's dress and placing it on the bathroom sink in Myrtle's apartment played like a fatal plot twist in a thriller. Clover's stomach pooled with dread. She had left her mother's dress at Myrtle's house and would never see it again if she didn't go back and get it. Despite not wanting to hear Myrtle's shrill voice again, Clover knew she had to retrieve the dress, otherwise Myrtle would cut it up into scrap for one of her weird clothing designs. The thought of the dress becoming that was too painful.

After hastily taking a last bite of her sandwich, Clover crumpled up the trash and chucked it towards the garbage can, not bothering to check if it made it in. Clover breezed through the doors towards the closest bus stop. The sooner she got this over with, the better.

After what seemed ages on public transport, Clover finally exited her bus and walked determinedly towards Myrtle's apartment. It was now around 2 pm, and depending on how much Myrtle got out, she possibly couldn't be home. But Clover didn't think so, because she obviously had a guest to be attending to.

Clover halted suddenly, ignoring the annoyed "watch it!" that came from the person swerving out of their way to avoid her.

If she went to Myrtle's apartment now, there was a good chance Nygma would be there. Scratch that, she was almost certain he would be. No doubt his muscles would be suffering from atrophy after such an extended period of being frozen and Myrtle would be there to care for him. And that was only if he even woke up. Clover shivered at the thought of Myrtle sitting alone in her apartment cradling a cold corpse. Was her mother's dress really worth either of these proposed outcomes?

While Clover's emotional side conceded that the dress' sentimental value didn't warrant a risk of encountering _him_ again, another part of her had something it desperately wanted to prove to itself. She had held her ground relatively well the night before, but completely lost it in the cafe. If she could do this, just this little thing, then perhaps she'd feel a little better. Maybe she could prove to herself that her confidence hadn't been a fluke, that she wouldn't go back to being the insecure little girl she'd been before.

Before she could doubt herself, Clover confidently began to walk again, reaching Myrtle's apartment in no time at all. She hesitated slightly at the door, before giving three firm and resolute knocks.

After a few moments of nothing, Clover's confidence wavered a little bit. Still not willing to give up, she knocked again. There was a shuffling sound inside, and finally the door swung open, revealing Myrtle. Clover wanted to, once again, marvel at how someone could dress so tacky, but she didn't have time for that.

"What do you want, I thought we were done!" Myrtle snapped, clearly not happy to see Clover. She had only opened the door enough to fit her body between it and the frame, so Clover couldn't see inside the apartment. Myrtle made no move to invite Clover in, which was fine with her.

"I uh…" _Confidence, confidence!_ Clover chanted in her head like a mantra. "I left my dress here last night. Can I please have it back?"

Myrtle seemed to contemplate her request for a moment, when a look of realization came over her face. "You can have your dress back, but only if you do me a favor."

Clover gave her an affronted look. "You want me to do something for you just to get my own clothing back? I can't believe this!"

"Well I don't recall you ever returning the clothing _I_ lent you." She placed a hand on her hip. "If you just do this simple favor for me, we'll be even. Please, it'll be very quick."

Clover wanted nothing more than refuse to get drawn back into this crazy woman's game, but at the same time, nothing would thrill her more. Clover tried to tell herself it was only her desire to reclaim the dress that brought her back here, but it was a poor excuse. She at least tried to promise herself that after one last favor it would be over. Clover bit her lip as she nodded slowly.

"Oh wonderful! Just come in for a moment, I won't keep you long." Myrtle said enthusiastically as she ushered Clover inside. The apartment was dim and just as cluttered as before. The tools Myrtle had used during her little heist were strewn around the room, and Clover wondered if the woman would have the sense to put them away before someone caught her.

Clover followed Myrtle to a closed off room in the back of the apartment that she could only assume was the bedroom. Nygma was nowhere in sight, and Clover gave the door a hard stare. Why was Myrtle leading her back here?

The two stopped outside the door, and Myrtle began to whisper lowly.

"Here's the deal. I have a guest sleeping in there, but I need to run to the store up the street and pick up more tylenol. He needs to be under constant surveillance in case something goes wrong. If you could just watch over him while I'm gone, I'll make it worth your while." Clover could tell she had added the last part to coerce her even more due to the hesitant expression on her face. Staying in an apartment alone with this man was too much for a dress, even if it used to belong to her mother.

"No way, I'm not doing that." Clover said, beginning to head back towards the exit.

Myrtle hastily grabbed her wrist and tugged her back, whispering harshly. "Please, I'll pay you another fifty! I'll pay anything to keep my Eddie safe!"

Clover cocked an eyebrow. "...Make it one hundred and you've got yourself a deal."

Myrtle nodded eagerly, then went to get her purse. She spoke while she walked, "I'll pay you when I get back. He's sleeping in the bedroom, all you need to do is keep an eye on him." She paused for a moment then asked, "Do you know CPR?"

Clover nodded silently, but balked at the idea of performing CPR on this man. She'd sooner just let him die.

"Okay good. Please keep him safe, I'll be back as soon as possible." Myrtle said as she rushed towards the door, clutching her purse tightly.

The door closed softly upon her exit, leaving a newly frightened Clover alone in her apartment with a criminal mastermind. She supposed things could be worse, but not by much.


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: There is a brief depiction of abuse at the end of this chapter, read at your own risk.**

/

Clover couldn't believe the situation she had gotten herself into. She blamed it on Nygma, she really did. If he hadn't blown up her university, Clover would've currently been sitting bored to death in one of Mrs. Dubois' lectures instead of babysitting an unconscious criminal If he hadn't went and got himself frozen, Clover would have never gone to the Iceberg Lounge and left her dress at Myrtle's apartment. Apparently, fate just loved to place Clover smack dab between it's crossfire with Edward Nygma. Yes, the nefarious and evil Edward Nygma, who was looking surprisingly more vulnerable and weak than she'd ever thought she'd see him.

After Myrtle had left, Clover contemplated what she should do. Her first instinct was to grab the dress and bolt, but that was a problematic plan for multiple reasons. First off, if she refused to babysit Nygma, she'd miss out on a hundred dollars that could more than compensate for the earnings of her lost day of work. The second reason was that Myrtle knew where Clover worked, and she would have no problem tracking Clover down in retribution for the abandonment of her "love". And while Clover wasn't necessarily threatened by Myrtle, she always thought twice about crossing a woman who owned a blowtorch.

Clover supposed she could simply stay and stay in the other room ignoring Nygma, but the same problem presented itself. If he somehow managed to have a heart attack while Clover was watching him, that would provide even more incentive for Myrtle to skin her and sew her into an ugly purse. The only option left was for Clover to reluctantly go in and watch over Nygma to make sure he didn't get her in trouble. Even when he was unconscious, he was dragging Clover into trouble.

Clover had tentatively opened the bedroom door, careful not to make a single sound. The sight that met her eyes once she entered was equal parts hilarious and disconcerting. Scattered about the room lit in dim firelight were multiple things that Clover could only describe as "Riddler paraphernalia." There were mannequins dressed in green suits positioned at all angles, giving the impression that they'd been positioned with purpose. The walls were covered in newspaper articles reading "RIDDLER STRIKES AGAIN!" and "NYGMA ON THE LOOSE!". There were several pictures of the man scattered about, most taken from newspapers. There was even an article from the night he decimated Gotham U. Clover's eyes quickly flitted away from that one.

Clover's mind couldn't process the bombardment of Myrtle's obsession very efficiently, but luckily it didn't have to. Warnings of danger quickly sounded in her mind as she spotted Nygma's sleeping body propped up on the bed. She stood stone still for a moment, trying desperately to control her breathing. The last time she'd interacted with this man, he'd been the picture of smug indifference as he dismissed her from his crime scene. Now he just looked… defenseless.

Nygma was fast asleep, thankfully, and the look on his face was vaguely disgruntled, as if he was having a not so pleasant dream. A soft frown marred his features, the space between his eyebrows creasing gently. Taking his unconscious state into account with relief, Clover took this opportunity to let her curious side assess him unabashedly.

His brown hair was ruffled and messy, a far cry from the usual coiffed and slicked back style she was accustomed to seeing in his photos. Gone were his perfectly tailored suit and shoes. Instead he was wearing a dark grey tank top, courtesy of Myrtle most likely. The blanket tucked over him went up to his chest, but Clover guessed that underneath his pants had most likely been removed to prevent any lingering hypothermia. Clover's face heated up when she thought about his bare lower half, as if she was still some middle schooler who laughed at the word "butt". She mentally scolded herself for blushing at the thought and quickly averted her eyes back to his face.

His horn-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose, helping to mask his expression slightly, but not enough. Clover remembered how the lenses had glinted in the dark lab at the university that night. She recalled how his dark brown eyes had seemed like cold slates behind them. Clover wondered what they would look like if he were to suddenly open them now. Would he immediately transform from this docile state, back into a broken man looking for a mentor?

 _No, bad Clover! He's a psychopath!_ Clover castigated herself. No matter how he looked when he couldn't hurt her, Clover had to remember how dangerous he was. She'd be a fool to forget that, and Gotham was not very kind to fools. She'd seen too many examples in the news of Gotham's metaphorical moths, flying way too close to the light and suffering the consequences.

Without taking her eyes off of him, Clover slowly eased herself into the chair facing the bed, wincing at the creaking noise it made as she settled. Hopefully Myrtle would be back soon and Clover could finally put this whole mess behind her. She had accepted that there was a part of her that didn't want to leave any of it, but knew better than to give it any leeway. That part of her had already gone too far and might never stop running if she let it.

Clover looked at the clock. It had already been ten minutes and Myrtle still wasn't back. Clover felt unbearably awkward just sitting silently and staring at Nygma like some creep, so she stood up and carefully strolled over to the bookshelf, shooting Nygma a glance every few seconds to make sure he hadn't woken up. Clover began to browse through the books, eventually losing herself in her exploration.

Some of the books were old and worn, while others still smelled like fresh paper and ink. The smell reminded her of when her mother would take her to the library in her youth, and she would spend hours among the rows of books. She was always so sad to leave, but even more excited to check out a book to read.

As Clover leafed through them, she stopped at a smaller book titled, "Riddles for Children." She scoffed. Of course a fanatic like Myrtle would own a book like this. Clover wondered if she intended to impress Nygma with a riddle of two. Maybe earn his favor by answering a few of them? Despite her dislike of the woman, Clover hoped Myrtle wouldn't face the same consequences of a false answer that Professor Smith had.

"Kristen?" A soft voice groaned, almost sounding frantic under the sedated tone.

Clover tensed in alarm, but made no move to turn around. Her hand was frozen on the book, clenching it in fear. She waited a moment to see if he would speak again.

"Kristen...m'sorry Kristen. Please f-forgive me, I didn't mean it." Nygma spoke in a murmury voice, and it was clear to Clover that he was in some sort of delirious state. "She looked so much like you Kristen…" He trailed off, head sagging to the side.

She turned around slowly to find that Nygma's eyes were cracked open slightly, his face contorted into an expression that completely caught Clover off guard. His expression was so tormented, Clover momentarily forgot who he was. All she saw was a broken man.

From the lack of recognition in his eyes, Clover could tell that he was completely convinced she was this Kristen person, whether or not she actually bore any resemblance to her. He seemed to become more and more distressed with every moment, his breathing picking up rapidly. Clover knew she had to pacify him soon or something bad was bound to happen. Perhaps the best way to go about it was to give him what he wanted.

"I forgive you, I forgive you..." Clover soothed nervously, moving a little bit closer to the man.

This did nothing to placate him, and Clover almost balked as she saw a tear slip out of his eye and heard a distraught noise escape his throat.

"No Kristen…. I hurt you. I loved you and I hurt you.." Nygma's voice trailed off as he was wracked by more sobs.

It was gut wrenchingly sad and pitiful at the same time, and Clover knew she had to stop him more for her own benefit than his at this point. She approached the crying man gingerly, careful not to make any sudden movements to startle the hysterical man. Ever so gently, she took his large calloused hand in hers. His eyes slowly opened again, his eyes puffy and shimmering with tears. The sobs slowly faded to sniffles.

Clover took a deep breath. "Sh, shhhh. I forgive you...Edward." She said, stroking soft circles on the back of his limp hand with her thumb, just how her mother used to when she cried.

The man seemed to relax almost audibly. He still sniffled, but his eyes drifted shut again. After a few moments, Clover slowly began to set his hand down. Soon Nygma was fast asleep again, and put up no fight as she gently placed his hand on one of the pillows by his side. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but Clover tried her best to keep calm.

She stared at Nygma's now content face as it glistened with tears. It was obvious he'd been crying. If Myrtle came back and found him like this it would only raise more trouble for herself. With this excuse in mind, Clover delicately removed his glasses and wiped away the fresh tears gently with her thumb. Surprisingly, his skin was soft despite its claminess from his time on ice. Clover let her hand linger for a moment, fingers gracing the top of his sharp cheekbone lightly, before snatching it away as if she had been burned. She quickly slipped his glasses back on and backed away, covering her mouth with the offending hand.

Out of the multitude of emotions running through her, the two contenders for strongest were horror and anger. Horror because she was afraid to process what had just happened, and anger because she didn't want to. There might have been a little bit of a, "I have to vomit," feeling in there, but she didn't get long to recognize it.

Before she could think about what she had just been through, Clover heard the front door open. Without a second thought, Clover walked into the bathroom and snatched up her dress. Then, without so much as a goodbye, Clover rushed passed Myrtle as she was setting her bags down. Myrtle gave a yelp and stumbled a little bit as their sides connected, but Clover didn't spare her an apology. She stepped out into the sunlight, reveling in the fresh air. She wasted no time in descending the steps to the street. She didn't turn around when she heard Myrtle yell after her.

"Hey what about the money?!" She cried.

Clover slowed her pace a little, then picked it up again.

"You can keep it!" She shouted back, almost sprinting now.

No money in the world could make her go back into that madhouse.

/

Clover had never been one for drinking her troubles away (she saw where that path lead thanks to her father), but that didn't stop her from finding herself slumped over at her kitchen table with a beer in hand and two empty ones off to the side. If she was going to deal with the day's events, she might as well be inebriated while doing so. The less brain power used, the better.

Clover didn't know what to start with, her pathetic breakdown at work, or her bonding session with a notorious criminal. Both gave her a headache to think about, but Clover knew from multiple therapy sessions that suppressing your problems doesn't actually make them go away. And the situation she had found herself in was definitely a problem.

It was almost as if the universe had been trying to confirm her suspicions about how double sided Nygma was. Despite all the evidence stacked against it, he definitely had a vulnerable side. She had thought about it earlier in the day when she'd been recollecting the night Gotham U blew up, and then suddenly she had the man weeping before her. True, he had been extremely out of it, but clearly his delusion had been based off of a real life event. He had kept saying the name Kristen, calling out to her desperately to apologize.

Clover wracked her brain to see if she remembered anyone named Kristen being involved with Edward Nygma. The papers were full of his escapades as The Riddler, but Clover couldn't imagine he felt any remorse for ruining those people's lives. No, this Kristen lady would have to have been before he became infamous. If Clover could recall, Nygma had committed two murders while still working for the GCPD. She couldn't remember their names, but perhaps Kristen could be one of them.

Clover snorted. ' _Or she could be his ex-girlfriend that broke up with him'_ While it was an amusing thought, the way Nygma had sobbed didn't indicate something as petty as a breakup. Although, he did seem to have a flair for drama.

Clover's heart wrenched a little at the memory of his crying. It had been as if he was mourning, a sound Clover knew too well. He had almost sounded like her brother at their mother's funeral. It was obvious to Clover that Kristen was no longer around, and that fact seemed to cause him pain. He had probably been dreaming about this lost woman, and had projected that onto Clover when he awoke into a barely lucid state.

She wondered if he would remember when he woke up. Would he remember Kristen walking up to him and whispering her forgiveness, or would he realize that it had been Clover all along. Would he remember her from all those weeks ago? Did she even want him to? Clover knew that if he did recognize her, it would be a load of trouble. So then why did her heart pick up a little at the thought of seeing him again?

Clover gave her almost finished beer a wary look before chucking it in the garbage. Clearly, she had drank enough for one night if she was already feeling irrational emotions. As a young woman living in the Narrows, a girl had to have a keen sense of survival in order to make it. While Clover would usually take pride in hers, sometimes she'd have dangerous thoughts like these. Her excuse 90% of the time was alcohol. The other 10% could be attributed to her period or any other or her millions of excuses.

Clover tensed a little as she heard the front door rattle, then sighed as she saw her father stomp in. He limped through the apartment slowly, his face turned away from Clover. She immediately got up and followed him, concern etched across her face. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but she felt it was finally time to confront him.

"Dad? Where have you been?" She asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged her off and placed his wet coat on the rack.

"Out." He replied gruffly.

Clover scowled at his gruff response and followed him as he limped towards the couch. Something wasn't right.

"Well have you even taken your medication today? You know that's important." She said sternly as he settled into the worn sofa.

Before Clover could heckle the non-responsive man more, she caught a glimpse at his face.

"Dad, is that a black eye?! What happened to you?" Clover reached out to touch the injury, only to have her hand angrily slapped away.

"I'm fine, don't touch me!" He growled, reaching for the remote.

Clover scowled and cradled her stinging hand to her chest. She'd had just about enough of his blunt and unconcerned behavior.

"What happened Dad? Are you really just gonna shut me out like this?"

He continued to ignore her, flipping through the channels with a sour look on his face. Fed up, Clover snatched the remote out of his hands and turned off the TV. Her father finally looked at her, a menacing glare on his face.

"Dad, I'm tired of you going out every night, doing who knows what, and then refusing to talk to me when you come back. You're hurting yourself and you won't even let me help!"

Her father stood up slowly, taller than Clover but not by much. It didn't make him any less intimidating to her. He stuck a finger in her face aggressively.

"Don't you ever think you know what's best for me, girl. You don't know anything. You're just as air-headed as your mother was." He spat with vitriol.

Clover tried to keep herself composed. She wanted to cry out of frustration but promised herself she wouldn't. Not like last time.

"Don't you dare bring her into this, Dad. I'm only trying to keep you from making any more mistakes. I just want you to be safe."

"Don't you ever blame any of this on me. If you and your hot-shot brother weren't so ungrateful, draining us of all of our money to go to college, we would have all the money in the world!"

Clover could tell he had been drinking, because her father would never speak a word of Zach unless he was out of his mind drunk. Of course the stench of alcohol had already warned her, but this just confirmed it.

"Oh, so _I'm_ the reason we're in debt? Who blows his money on drinks every night? Who gambles his money away? Who owes money to the mob? Stop me if I'm wrong, but that sounds a lot like you!"

Before she could say anything else, his hand recoiled and he brought it across her face. All she could do was stare at him in shock before the stinging finally registered in her cheek. She could feel her throat closing up, a certain sign of an upcoming onslaught of tears.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that!" He screamed, clenching his hands into fists. "I provide for you and your ungrateful brother your whole lives and this is how you repay me?! You're a garbage daughter, and I'd be much better off without you leeching off of me!"

Clover wanted to stay and keep the argument going, but her liquid courage had run out, and the tears already spilling out of her eyes were too distracting. She didn't want him to see her break down, so Clover fled to her room without looking back. She slammed her door and gently sat on the edge of her bed, cradling her wet face in her hands. The sounds of the TV resumed in the living room. Clover sat for a little while, attempting to soothe her swollen skin.

Eventually, she stood up and walked over to her mirror. Her eyes were swollen and red, and a vibrant red mark had formed on her cheek. Though the cases were few and far between, it wasn't the first time he father had physically hit her, and Clover knew that the mark would be gone in two days tops. She gently prodded the blemish. The bruises from when her wrist had been grabbed earlier that day offset the slap mark like a morbid jewelry set. Clover turned away from the mirror quickly, no longer interested in remembering the people who had hurt her.

Her thoughts were racing wildly, and the only thing Clover could do to distract herself was clean. It was a little tick of hers, you see. Clover wasn't exactly a tidy person, but in times of great distress cleaning helped her clear her mind. Something about making her environment less chaotic helped ease the chaos in her mind. Everytime she and her father fought, the house would be spotless the following day.

Clover went to work straightening the items on her small desk, throwing away discarded wrappers and organizing the pictures she had set up. Her eyes passed over a one specific picture, and her heart lurched. She picked up the picture and stared at it, her hands shaking slightly

It was picture of her and her brother when she had been 13 and he was 17. Zach's arm was slung around her and the two were paused mid-laughter. Clover looked like her usually dorky self, braces and a messy bobbed haircut. Zach had been considered more classically attractive, an easy on the eyes smile and a strong jaw. The picture had made her smile with fondness once upon a time. Now Clover wondered why she even bothered keeping it.

The last time she had seen her brother was two years ago. Throughout their whole childhood, Clover and Zach had been extremely close. Despite their 4 year age difference, they had always had each other's backs. The same could not be said for Zach's relationship with their parents, their father in particular. Mr. Clein was harsh on both of his children, urging them both to push themselves to the utmost academic limits. Oftentimes, Zach and their father would get into arguments about his grades. Zach was by no means dumb, but he could never quite reach the impossible standards of his father. It seemed like the two were yelling back and forth every other day. Those were the days when Clover's mom would take her to the library for hours.

After he left for college, their relationship only spiraled down. His father resented him for refusing to become a businessman like himself, and Clover began to resent him for leaving her alone to deal with her parents and their failing marriage. Clover had eventually been poisoned by her parents ideas and hated Zach just as much as them.

A few months later, after her mother passed away, Clover and Zach finally reconciled. Despite her anger, she knew deep down inside that she still loved him. From then on they talked over the phone regularly, and Zach had even told her about the exciting internship he was starting in Gotham. But after a while, the calls stopped coming, and Clover hadn't heard from him since. She'd done everything from going to where he said he'd be interning to even calling his college, but he had simply disappeared. Her father was convinced it was because Zach thought he was too good for them, and not for the first time, Clover believed him. She knew there could possibly be more to the story, but it was much easier to just be angry at him.

Scowling at the picture, Clover angrily threw it into the trash. Who was he to leave her, after everything their family had gone through? If he thought he was too good for them, fine, but what right did he have to abandon her with their declining father? He knew better than anyone what that man was like. ' _So do I'_ Clover thought as her cheek throbbed.

Tired and frustrated, Clover threw herself onto her bed, simply wanting to forget everything for awhile. Unfortunately for her tired body, her head was still racing with thoughts. She thought of the angry customer, his rough hands clamped around her boney wrist. She thought of her brother, his arm slung around her shoulders in a warm embrace, before that warmth disappeared and was replaced by emptiness. She thought of her father's angry face and the aching pain of his blow. Everything hurt too much.

Then, Clover's blessedly drunk mind thought of something more pleasant. She remembered stroking Edward's hand earlier when he had been crying. Would he do the same for her? In her half-lucid state, she dreamed of sliding her hand inside a warmer one. His long fingers threaded through hers and gave a gently squeeze. He didn't hit her, or clamp down, or pull away. And even though there was a bold warmthness to the gesture, it felt safe and certain. In the morning she would forget all about it, but the thought comforted her for now.

Clover smiled, her hazy mind succumbing to sleep as she replayed the feeling in her head. Her hand twitched beneath the sheets, longing to be held by someone who wouldn't let go.

/

 **A/N:** **This chapter was a bit interesting to write because I wasn't sure exactly how things would play out. I also wanted to clarify that although Ed never seems super guilty about killing Kristen after he buries her, I feel like he definitely feels subconsciously guilty. This idea will be played with later in the story ;) Anyways, I know authors harp on this a lot, but please leave a review if you're enjoying. Even if it's something really simple, it helps motivate me and let me know what parts of the story you guys like. Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning: Very small description of suicide in the chapter. It's not really too graphic but I put dashes around it just in case someone wants to skip.**

/

They say a busy mind is a happy mind, and that particular maxim couldn't be any more true for Clover. It had been two weeks since she had fled from Myrtle's apartment, and Clover spent the bulk of her time throwing herself into anything that would keep her mind occupied.

She was extra polite a work, smiling excessively and even drawing little pictures in the coffee foam. The goal was to scrounge up enough tips to take her father somewhere nice (in reparation of her "outburst" as he called it), but the residents of Gotham had a habit being stingy on tips. For all Clover's hard work, the tip jar remained relatively barren. She chose to lament this outcome considerably more than she usually would. It wasn't a huge disappointment, but being sad over that was much less of a headache than being confused or worried about the looming thought of Edward Nygma.

Clover could gladly say she hadn't been thinking about him very much. In fact, there were days when the smartly dressed man barely even crossed her mind. But her dreams were a much, much different story. More often than not, her unconscious mind was plagued with thoughts of him in many different forms.

The bulk of her dreams weren't very memorable, and often completely meaningless. A glint of light and a flash of green were all she could remember seeing before jolting awake. Other dreams were less abstract, but still incomprehensible. The most peculiar of these had been her dream where she'd been back in highschool, frantically running in late to Mrs. Harbor's chemistry class, only to find Edward Nygma in a tweed jacket standing at the board instead with a look of disapproval on his face.

' _Ms. Clein,"_ He'd say. ' _You're late to class once again! If you want to arrive punctually,_ _ **you should probably run**_ _.'_

This types of images never failed to make her laugh, albeit a bit nervously

Yet, despite how strange the circumstances of those dreams could be, Clover's least favorite ones were the memories. The things that had really happened, or almost did.

They always started the same. Clover was ducked behind a desk, struggling to hear over her own erratic breathing. Then she would hear Professor Smith yelling in the distance, a blood curdling sound, and thudding footsteps approaching her. The next part of the dream varied on each occasion. Sometimes, things would play out exactly the way they had that night. Clover would wake up feeling the intense heat of the explosion on her back, and a sweat stain would be pooling in her sheets. Other times, she didn't escape the building at all. She stayed there, cowering in fear, watching Nygma's retreating back. Occasionally, she would catch him glance back at her slightly, a look of pity crossing his face, before she was engulfed in flames. Both eventualities were traumatic to experience, and Clover desperately prayed that they'd soon fade so she could sleep well again.

Then one night, the uniformity of the dream's beginning changed. As Clover faded into sleep, she found herself not crouched behind the desk, but standing in the middle of the sterile lab. Clover turned around slowly, taking in the pristine space. Everything was orderly and in its proper place, but her professor was nowhere to be seen. As far as she observed, she was completely alone. As Clover had finally turned in a full circle, Professor Smith appeared. He was disheveled and tied up exactly how he'd been that night. The cable wound around his hands gave a creaking noise as he struggled in vain to free himself. His eyes were full of a terror that should have inspired fear in Clover, but all she felt was the sense that something was missing.

A warm hand suddenly clasped Clover's shoulder. She let out a surprised yelp, but didn't turn around, already knowing who it was. Of course this night wouldn't be complete without him. Things never could just be simple or easy, especially not on this night.

Clover refused to turn around and face the monster, so she instead stared resolutely ahead at Professor Smith. His glassy eyes stared blankly back, and it struck Clover that his struggling had ceased and he wasn't breathing anymore. His arms sat limply in his lap, his head lolled to the side and pale. An emotion she hadn't been able to manifest before trickled through her body, a few tears escaping her eyes easily. He was gone, and it was all her fault.

After a dreadfully long moment, the shadow behind her whispered, "Is this what you wanted?"

The words echoed in the lab as Clover processed them. Was he referencing the lifeless body of her teacher, or something else?

"No, of course not." She replied, clenching and flexing her fists slowly.

She hadn't wanted Professor Smith dead. For all his irritating quirks, the man had been a quite passionate teacher. Clover had never wanted to see him die.

He gave a dark chuckle, the hand on her shoulder clenching tighter. Clover thought that in another life, it would've hurt.

"Oh, but isn't it? You could have ran or called the police, but you stayed instead. You allowed him to burn."

"I was hiding!" Clover said quickly. "I was afraid you would catch me."

Still behind her, he stretched his hand across Clover's face to her opposite cheek, gently placing two fingers there and turning her head until he could lean over her shoulder and make eye contact.

"Afraid, or hopeful?"

With her outrage at his accusation, and the startling intensity of his eyes, Clover finally found the sense to fling herself out of his arms.

"I don't know what you mean, but you're wrong. I did everything I could to get away from you."

He scoffed, folding his hands behind his back as he paced around the lab. His heat lingered for a moment like a ghost, then vanished. He picked up a flask and played with it idly in his slender hands.

"We both know that's false. You did everything you could to get closer to me. You stayed because of curiosity. Your professor died because you wanted to see where I would go with things."

Clover bent over and steadied herself on the counter as her head began to pound frantically. Her head bowed in pain as she faced away from him. She was finding it harder and harder to muster up a cohesive sentence in her defense.

"No… that's wrong. You're wrong! I couldn't have stopped you if I wanted to." She trailed off as the pain almost became agonizing.

Once again, he chuckled as if he knew something she didn't and it was such a delicious secret. She was faintly aware of him moving behind her, but didn't register it until he was leaning in to whisper into her ear.

"But that's just the thing, you didn't want to stop me. You wanted the danger, the heat, the breathlessness." He paused for a moment to run a cold finger gently down the back of her neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Can't get that from a shift at the coffee house." He finished snidely, removing his hand.

Clover clenched the counter even harder, the spot behind her nose burning from unshed tears.

"You're WRONG! I don't want that, or any of this." She vehemently denied, her voice beginning to waver. "I just want….I want…"

She felt both of his hands slowly come up to rest flat at the junction between her neck and collarbone. The slot between his thumb and pointer finger fit perfectly around the curve of her neck, and his fingers were almost long enough to completely interlace around the front. Unlike when he had touched her before, there were now freezing cold. Clover let out a low whimper as goosebumps erupted along the nape of her neck, and he shushed her in what should've been a soothing manner.

"Shhh shh, I know what you want. You want to experience that thrill again, something to get your heart pounding. Isn't that it?"

Clover nodded slowly, her pulse fluttering against his fingers. It felt like there was fire in her blood, simmering just below the surface. Her heart was a furnace, pumping flames in and out. Everything seemed warm and stifling at the same time.

"Well then, all you had to do was say so…"

The last thing Clover had felt in the dream was Nygma's hands tightening around her throat, igniting a flame in her larynx, then nothing. She had briefly woken up after the dream, but not in her usual state of panic. She hadn't been panting or sweating, just tired, chilly, and not lucid enough to fully comprehend what she had just dreamt of. She fell back to sleep shortly after, curling into a ball to conserve heat. It was the first night in weeks she slept soundly.

If Clover hadn't been so busy with her scheme to distract herself from all her problems, she would've been pretty alarmed over the dream's implications, but she had learned to chalk all her strange dreams up to the remnants of stress from that night. They were only wacky scenarios her mind had created due to residual feelings of excitement and stress, nothing more or less.

One improvement that could be gleaned from the events from that last few weeks was that Clover had finally taken a liking to the Narrows. Everyone knew that its inhabitants had a reputation of being fiercely loyal to their home, but Clover had always been too perturbed by the danger lurking there to actual enjoy her stay. But since her encounter with Penguin in the Iceberg Lounge, Clover had began to actually find things she liked about the Narrows. The store owners, though initially suspicious of everyone, were actually very friendly after she proved she wasn't a thief. She'd even become friends with the owner of her favorite sandwich shop, and boy did he have some interesting stories to tell.

Not only was she beginning to like the people residing there, but she also took a little thrill in the danger that could be found lurking in almost every corner. There were thugs on just about every street, but Clover had learned that most would back off if you showed a little grit. Even if they weren't intimidated by her, the image of a 5'2 woman with a ratty jacket baring her fists caught them off guard. She especially enjoyed the time several men had been cat calling her at a crosswalk, only to immediately clam up when she displayed the pistol strapped to the inside of her coat with a wink. Though Clover wasn't so keen on using weapons, the gratifying feeling of intimidation towards the people who used to intimidate her just felt too good.

She had even begun to take an interest in the grisly crime scenes that often speckled the Narrows. Once upon a time, she would've resolutely turned her head the other direction when confronted with a crime scene. It was only the police's business after all. Now, however, she always found herself curious about what exactly had gone down. She reasoned that looking at the dead bodies on the street really wasn't too different than looking at the cadavers from her med studies. Not exactly sound logic, but she figured it didn't hurt anyone too much if she looked. They were already dead, after all.

On this particular day, she was stopped by an intriguing yet disturbing scene on her way home from the bus station. Several police cars were pulled up to the curb, and a few officers stood in various places around a scene roped off with caution tape. Clover easily slid up to the tape, not hindered at all by anyone trying to stop her. Crime scenes were so common in the Narrows that not many people stopped to stare anymore, and most police officers were too lazy to force back the onlookers.

Clover gulped as she spotted what all the officers were gathered around. It was a man in his underwear, lying face down on the ground. The doors to a balcony up above were wide open, suggesting that was where he'd jumped from. Despite having seen things like this before, Clover could never sustain straight clinical interest when she saw the gut wrenching scene left behind by a suicide. The recognition that someone had taken their own life always twisted in her gut. She understood that Gotham was a dark place, hell the world was a dark place, but the reasoning behind a choice like that always eluded her. No matter how hard she tried to understand, she just couldn't. Even the death that haunted her own life was elusive to her, constantly haunting her thoughts and provoking unwanted emotions.

Clover quickly turned away from the scene, attributing the cold feeling in her gut to the gusting wind. Here she was trying to distract herself from her problems, but still bringing up old conflicts that had happened years ago. Shaking the thoughts out of her head, Clover continued on her way home.

Her apartment building, as she approached it, seemed less intimidating than when she'd first moved in. She hadn't really given its appearance much thought since she first moved in, but it seemed much more like home now. Initially she'd been revolted by it's ugly brick exterior and shabby paint job, but after warming up to the Narrows its overall unpleasantness blended in with just about every other building. Although, Clover would admit that she would never enjoy finding cockroaches, dead and alive, littered about the hallways.

As she came closer to the building, Clover spotted one of her neighbor's children sitting on the front steps. The little girl, who's name Clover couldn't quite remember, sat huddled on the steps with a tattered jacket wrapped around her. Seeing a child alone in the Narrows wasn't too uncommon considering how many parents worked multiple jobs, seeing such a young girl outside alone was cause for concern. Clover knew it was none of her business, but as the little girl let out a throaty cough into her hands, her conscience begged her to stop. Clover knelt down next to the little girl slowly, resting her hands on her knees.

"Are you alright?" Clover asked hesitantly.

The girl removed her hands from her face, and Clover could finally see her clearly. The girl looked, without any better term to describe it, like death. Her skin was frighteningly pale, and her eyes were sunken in. She was gaunt, far to skinny for a child, and there was a large bleeding gash on her cheek. It was heartbreaking to see such a young child looking like this. Clover slowly reached out a hand unthinkingly to touch her cut, but the little girl flinched away.

"What happened to you?" Clover asked slowly, trying not to let her voice betray how astonished she was. Who would let their child get to this point?

"I-I'm sick." She stuttered, wiping her nose with the edge of her tattered sleeve. "I got dizzy and fell. Mommy and daddy aren't home."

Clover's heart burned with sympathy. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't help this girl out.

Clover gave her a reassuring smile. "Why don't you come up to my apartment with me, I have a first aid kit and some snacks."

The little girl shook her head vehemently. "Mommy and daddy told me not to go with strangers."

Clover gave a quiet sigh, but nodded in understanding. "Alright then, I'll bring it down do you. Stay right here please."

The girl simply nodded, her wide eyed look never faltering. Clover quickly rushed up the stairs to her apartment, snatching her first aid kit from her bathroom cabinet. She scanned the pantry for snacks, but the only suitable thing she could find was a box of graham crackers. It would have to do.

She rushed back down to find the girl still sitting where she'd left her. Clover slowly sat next to her on the steps, and the girl gave her a wary look. But as soon as she spotted the graham crackers, the girl looked a little more eager to comply.

"I'm Clover, what's your name?" Clover asked as she began to rifle through her supplies.

The girl sniffed quietly, "I'm Bailey."

"Well that's a pretty name, Bailey." Clover said as she felt her forehead. Bailey was burning up.

After a moment, the girl said, "Clover is a weird name."

Clover gave a short chuckle. "Yeah, I guess it is kinda weird. It's just my nickname though, don't worry"

They lapsed into silence again as Clover examined the cut on the girl's cheek. She didn't have any meds for her headache, but she could at least try to bandage the cut. Unfortunately, it looked rather deep, blood still slowly seeping out.

"Bailey I hate to say this, but I think you need stitches. Can your parents get you to a doctor?"

Bailey nodded her head no. "No, mommy says doctors are too much money. We only go see Doctor Lee sometimes."

Clover shook her head. "Well I can give you stitches, but they will hurt."

Bailey nodded slowly, peeling up her sleeve to show a long, straight scar on her forearm. "I got stitches before, they hurt real bad."

Clover tried not to cringe at the scar. It looked surgical and precise, as if it had been inflicted by a trained hand and a scalpel. It was clear that an upbringing in the narrows contained more than just skinned knees and elbows. It broke her heart that most families' incomes were too low to leave this place and provide a better life for their kids. At least Clover could help out in some way.

"This is going to sting a little bit." Clover said as she began to disinfect the wound. Bailey flinched a little bit, but held her ground.

Clover then slowly brought out the needle and thread, trying her best to not look intimidating wielding them. Bailey shot her a glance, but didn't do anything to stop her. Clover should've been shocked by a child so young not screaming at the prospect of pain, but she knew life in the Narrows had a way of increasing everyone's tolerance to such things. Clover instructed her to take deep breaths as she slowly stitched the wound closed.

After it was over, Clover patted Bailey on the back and handed her the entire box of crackers.

Bailey's eyes widened. "A-all for me?" She stammered.

Clover nodded, her heart breaking just a little bit more. "They're all for you. Just remember to find me in a few weeks so I can remove the stitches. I'm apartment 219b."

Bailey smiled and nodded in understanding, then gave Clover a tight hug before scampering off somewhere.

"Be safe!" Clover called after her, trying to quell the grief pooling in her heart.

Though she could treat the girl's physical wounds, there was nothing she could do about the internal ones. It was clear the girl was very sick from her appearance and her symptoms like her temperature and cough. Her eyes had been slightly red around the edges, and Clover suspected it wasn't just from crying. Without treatment, who knows what she might suffer through.

Clover placed her head in her hands, rubbing her temples slowly. Her eyes were screwed shut, so she didn't notice the person walking towards her until they were upon her. Clover's eyes opened quickly as she heard the person in front of her clear their throat.

She slowly peered up to find a woman standing over her. The lady appeared tall from Clover's sitting position, and her hair was in a straight sleek style that rested at her shoulders. She was dressed in a dark outfit made up of black and maroon, which sort of made her look a little intimidating. It wasn't too uncommon to see people dressed that way in this part of town. Clover didn't see any reason to reach for her gun, but the thought was still there in the back of her mind.

"Can I help you?" Clover asked bluntly, not wanting to waste time with someone who could possibly just be looking for a handout.

"I saw what you did just now, helping that girl out." The woman said, her voice sounding far less harsh than Clover had expected.

"Yeah so?" Clover responded, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

The woman smiled as she turned her head to watch the little girl retreating down the street. "You don't see too many people willing to lend a helping hand around these parts."

"What did you expect me to do? She was sick and bleeding. Anyone would've done the same." Clover huffed.

The woman gave a mirthless chuckle. "You must be new to the Narrows. Almost everyone turns a blind eye to the sick people in this community."

"Why is that?" Clover asked, fiddling with the latch on the first aid kit.

"Well there's lots of reasons. Most people in Gotham are more focused on their own gain. They're not worried about anyone else. But a lot of it is because most of the sick in the Narrows are suffering the residuals of the Tetch virus. Most people just assume they can't be helped."

Clover was lucky enough to say that she'd been out of town when the virus had been unleashed on the city, but that didn't stop it from affecting her life. She'd heard horror stories about how insane it made the infected go, and as scary as it was, it still interested her. A virus that could change someone's personality wasn't unheard of, but the changes it did make were completely unprecedented by any of its predecessors. Clover could imagine entertaining herself for weeks with a vial of infected blood and a microscope.

Still, the implications of its lasting effect on the population were saddening, and Clover didn't quite know how to respond other that muttering a dumb "oh".

The woman paused, then continued on. "But they can be helped. People like you can help them."

Clover shook her head. "I'm no hero, just a girl who knows how to apply stitches."

The woman nodded. "I saw how you applied them. You have wonderful precision. Did you teach yourself?"

"No, I studied pre-med in college. Picked up a few things before I dropped out." Clover replied, bitterness invading her voice.

"Well would you like to study again?"

Clover looked up at the woman and raised an eyebrow, not exactly sure what she was getting at.

"My name is Lee Thompkins, and I run a clinic for those afflicted by the Tetch virus. I think you could do amazing things if you came and helped me."

Clover snorted and said, "What exactly would I gain from helping you? I'm busy enough as it is."

"For starters, you'd be helping people. Don't act like that's not something you want, I can see it in you. You'd also be getting the chance to learn medical techniques again."

Clover desperately wanted to turn her down simply out of spite, but the offer did sound appealing. She missed studying the human body, as evidence by her most recent hobby of checking out grisly crime scenes. Maybe doing this would bring some of the excitement she'd been missing back. Lee smiled, recognizing Clover's contemplation as a sign of her resistance failing.

"Please, just come by once. I promise it will be worth it."

Clover exhaled, knowing that going off with some woman she'd just met was not the smartest decision in the world. But it _was_ the most interesting one.

"When can I start?" She asked reluctantly.

Something glimmered in Lee's warm brown eyes. "How about right now?"

Clover stood up, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Alrighty then. Lead the way doc."

As they walked down the street, dusk almost upon them, Clover could only find a sort of amusing irony in the situation. Here she was once again with some woman she just met, going who knows where, and doing something that may or may not turn out to be illegal. And this time she wasn't even getting payed! Only in the Narrows she supposed. Funny how that worked out.

' _Things could be worse.'_ Clover thought as she leisurely followed behind Lee.

' _I could run into Nygma.'_ She chuckled under her breath, ignoring the look she received from Lee. What were the chances of that happening again?

/

 **A/N:**

 **I'm not really super happy with this chapter? Something about the dialogue seems sort of sketchy to me but I cant pinpoint it. Anyways, I'm going to try to pump out a few quick updates before summer ends and I'm busy again. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review if you did! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

As much as she would like to claim the opposite, Clover had never been a very compassionate person. Not to say that she didn't empathize with others or attempt to help them on occasion, but that type of attitude just wasn't her predisposition. She often saw injustice in the world, but couldn't find the means or motivation to try to correct it. Clover had always believed that it was simply easier to survive what life threw at her than to fight back, and she supposed this philosophy might've transferred into how she viewed other's troubles as well. Most of the time, helping them seemed pointless. People were endless coils, a snake eating its own tail and constantly dragging themselves back into trouble. They wouldn't stay helped for long. She didn't know if seeing things this way made her a bad person, and frankly hadn't given it much thought since she graduated high school and had much less time to think about it.

She could vividly remember the first time someone had asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. Like all the other kids in her kindergarten class, she had answered something very whimsical. Back then, she had wanted to be a painter. When asked why, she could only respond that she, "liked the pretty colors." She'd be asked again later in third grade and would respond with singer because she liked to sing. Over the years, the same question would be asked over and over again with varying answers. And though the answer would change, her reasoning for it remained consistent. Clover would choose a career based on what she enjoyed doing.

But things change when you get older. Suddenly things become less about what you want to do, and more about what you can do to benefit society. In ninth grade, Clover had answered the age old question by saying she wanted to be a doctor. The general response was usually something along the lines of, "Oh, you'll be able to help so many people!" or, "You must really like helping people." The truth was, Clover didn't think much about helping people. She just liked studying the human body, and if helping others happened to be a side effect of that, great.

Clover supposed her whole job ordeal summed up her opinion on helping others pretty well. While it was a wonderful concept and could ease your mind of guilt, she was sad to say she'd always be primarily self focused. However, seeing a sick little girl on the side of the street had just been too much to turn a blind eye to. Helping Bailey with her wounds had felt like the right thing to do, but it was increasingly becoming apparent to Clover that it might've opened up a whole other world of trouble for her.

Lee had promised Clover a chance to come to this clinic and continue her study of biology, but the longer they walked the more she regretted believing her promise. Lee could be leading her anywhere, and although she seemed trustworthy, so did many sketchy people living here. Maybe it was something in the water?

The two had made idle chit chat during their walk, mostly Lee trying to make things less tense, but they regressed into silence as they approached their destination.

From the outside look of the building, Clover would've thought that Lee had lead her to some sort of bar. The front was covered in worn red bricks, and it looked be only a few steps ahead of dilapidated. Most bars in the area had the same look, but usually had some sort of sign to indicate they were open for business and not abandoned. There was no flashing neon sign on the outside, but Clover could hear the cheers and whistles coming on the inside from across the street. Whatever the place was, it didn't seem a very appropriate place for the sick.

Clover shot Lee an apprehensive look, which Lee ignored, pressing forward confidently.

Clover jogged a little bit to catch up, but decided to speak her mind.

"Where exactly are you taking me? This doesn't look like a clinic."

Lee smiled a little. "The clinic is below this building. It was the only place I could get. There isn't much empty property in the Narrows that doesn't have its share of problems."

Clover supposed she could accept that excuse, but didn't have much time to think over it further as the two stepped through the entrance. The inside was packed wall to wall with people, jeering and shouting as they pressed together. Clover's nose wrinkled as the odor of human sweat and smoke filled her lungs. They seemed to all be crowded around some sort of elevated platform in the middle, but it was hard to see over the heads of the crowd. Clover's eyes flitted to a bar in the corner. It seemed her prediction about the building had been simultaneously right and wrong. It was clearly a bar, but housed patrons a bit more unique than the general Narrows scum.

Clover turned her head away from the spectacle as Lee grabbed her lower bicep, leading her away from the crowd. The noise lessened slightly as they entered a dark hallway to the side. Lee didn't remove her hand as they made their way down the hall, passing several tangled couples and a few junkies curled up on the floor. Clover couldn't help but avert her eyes as she heard a girl moan from her position against her boyfriend. Not something she wanted to hear, or see.

Lee eventually lead her to a staircase descending into a dark area below the floor. Clover likened it to the entrance of a dungeon, dank and dark. But her wariness didn't stop her from following Lee into the basement, figuring she'd already come this far.

Upon entering the basement, Clover was surprised to find that the noise upstairs was now only a muffled sound with the occasional thud hitting the ceiling. The lighting downstairs was dim, but a few streams of light made their way through the slats of a boarded up half window at the top of the wall. With this light, Clover could make out Lee walking ahead of her and the dozens of people waiting around the space.

They seemed to look normal at first, but Clover's perception changed as Lee flipped a switch and a flickering bulb illuminated them. They almost looked undead. Their skin had a pale pallor that rivaled printer paper, and they were gaunt like corpses. Their eyes had a redness around the corners, and a few of the older ones had a milky quality to their eyes that gave Clover chills. She had been around the sick before, but never any people this ill.

"If you'd just make a line outside the door, I'll see to you all momentarily." Lee said as she entered a side room.

Clover followed her in silently. The room was sparsely decorated with various doctor's office equipment. There was a scale in the corner, and examination table, a cabinet filled with medical supplies, and even a little twin bed resembling the type you might find in a nurses office. Despite how run-down it looked, it reminded Clover of visits to the pediatrician's for her annual wellness check. If only things were that simple now.

"So...what exactly would you like me to do Doc?" Clover asked as Lee busied herself with preparing the office.

Lee bent into a drawer, searching for something then turning around when she found it. She handed Clover a stethoscope then turned back around.

"I think you can start off examining the patients. Take their vitals, assess symptoms, then send them to me for treatment."

Clover nodded slowly. Basic work wasn't exactly what she'd like to be doing, but the familiarity of it was comforting enough. She'd interned at a doctor's office her freshman year of college, and they'd given her much similar work to do. Once upon a time she might've found it boring, but now she craved any sort of medical practice she could get.

The first patient that came in was a younger aged woman who looked considerably less ill than some of the other patients. The woman had come to the clinic because she was pregnant and couldn't afford to see a doctor. Unfortunately, there was nothing Clover could really do other than offer the woman tips on how to make the pregnancy run smoother and advise her to come in for checkups. Obstetrics had never really been Clover's forte, but as she turned her over to Lee the woman immediately knew exactly what to say.

From that point Clover dealt with a large array of patients. Some were afflicted with the common cold, some had broken bones, and some were suffering from remnants of the Tetch Virus. These patients were especially hard to tend to, because only their symptoms could really be relieved. Without access to the additional treatment provided by hospitals to those who hadn't been cured, it was almost impossible to stop the virus from deteriorating their health and mind. Clover could patch them up, but there was only so much a little clinic in the Narrows could do.

In a way, it reminded Clover of her father. Of course there were treatments for lung cancer, but they didn't help much if you lacked the money to pay. They could afford to keep up the chemo for now, but what would they do when the money ran out? It was depressing to think of how she was failing to help her father, so Clover instead focused on the patients in front of her.

It must've been hours that she stayed in the basement, patching wounds and treating people. As the last person exited, Clover thought she'd seen just about every case the Narrows had to offer. She let her body slump into a small wooden chair as Lee closed the door after the last patient. Lee leaned her body against the counter, looking even more exhausted than Clover. The two waited in silence, the roar from upstairs being the only sound.

"That was just… wow." Clover spoke finally, shaking her head in amazement.

Lee smirked. "I told you, this clinic is really making a difference. You really helped a lot of people tonight."

Clover stared vacantly at the human body diagram hanging in the corner of the room, mulling over Lee's words. She really had helped a lot of people. She wondered if this type of satisfaction came with being a full fledged doctor. The side of her that longed to spend her days in a lab was definitely satiated, but there was also an underlying happiness inside. Those people weren't cured, not at all, but they were happier. And that had to count for something, right?

But beyond the feeling of fulfillment Clover got from the clinic, she liked the purpose it gave her. Ever since she quit college, she'd felt aimless. She didn't have a job that intrigued her, and her home life was dreadful. Working here was hard, but it far surpassed the monotony of her everyday life. It had all been bearable before, but something had changed in her since that night at the Iceberg Lounge. She wasn't content to go through the motions anymore. Clover wanted more.

"So what are the hours in this place? How often are you open for business?" She asked casually.

"Well I try to be here as often as I can." Lee crossed her arms as she leaned further back into the counter. "Generally people get here whenever they're in need and I try to be here. Nothing's set in stone if I'm being honest."

Clover knew there was no way she could be running down here all the time, not while she was trying to earn a living. But after what she'd seen tonight, she was willing to sacrifice some of her time to come. It wasn't like she had too much else to do.

"I can't promise I'll be available on weekdays, but I can come in on weekends."

Lee smiled. "Well I need all the help I can get, so I'll take it.

Clover smiled, feeling for once that she had a place in Gotham. Like she wasn't just aimlessly drifting through her life trying to find something meaningful. Clover wouldn't lie to herself and say that she was motivated by some warm, fuzzy feeling inspired by helping others. She was spurred on by the feeling of purpose deep in her chest, and the surge of endorphins that she could remember accompanying the start of an interesting project.

Clover could tell that Lee understood her motivation, judging by the knowing look in her eyes. Maybe Lee had been the same at one point, young and passionate with a desire to push her own limits. Now Lee desperately wanted to help others, and Clover couldn't tell if that was indicative of Lee's passion for her work or compassion for others. Clover supposed it didn't matter if their motives aligned. It only mattered that she was back to doing what she loved.

Lee began to clean the workspace and Clover quickly followed, disposing of unwrapped gauze and sterilizing the equipment. All the needles, syringes, and other medical equipment were kept in sealed containers to keep them from their dirty environment. Clover was glad to see that even though they weren't providing top notch care, at least they were reaching sanitary standards. After a few minutes, a loud thumping was heard out in the hallway, then the sound of knuckles rapping on the door.

"We need you upstairs Doc, our champs needs attention." A woman's voice yelled before Clover heard the sound of her retreating.

Lee sighed, grabbing her first aid kit off the counter. She turned to Clover as she passed by.

"You can go home Clover, you've done great work today."

Clover trailed behind her quickly. "Are you sure you don't need help with this last patient? I'm not exactly in a rush."

It was true. For the past few weeks, Clover would rather be anywhere but home. The thought of being in the same room as her father made her anxious, even though she was supposed to care for him. And even when he wasn't home, the empty apartment was too dark and malignant for her liking. She often found herself staying out late in avoidance of going there.

Lee continued to press forward. "You can come help if you want, but I've got to warn you; he has a unique condition."

Clover was a little perplexed by this, but it didn't stop her from following Lee up the stairs. If anything, now she was even more determined to stay. What did Lee mean by "unique condition"?

As they made their way up to the first floor, Clover noticed two things. The first was that the area had cleared out immensely and she could actually see the entire room, and the second was the overwhelming stench of rot that had replaced the smell of sweat. Clover's eyes scanned the area, searching for the source. With her view now unobstructed, she could make out what resembled a fighting ring in the middle of the room. The area was contained by rubber chords, similar to a wrestling cage, and there was a body lying limp on the side. Clover slowly averted her eyes as a man with gloves wrapped his arms under the body's shoulders and dragged it away. The body's head hung limp, but Clover could see (and smell) drops of blood plopping down.

Clover's stomach churned in disgust as she realized she was smelling death. She should've been able to put it together earlier, but she just now realized this place was some sort of fight club. There was lots of these establishments in the Narrows, making money off the people's love of carnage. It was almost ironic that Lee's place of healing would reside below such a place of destruction. Clover quickly averted her eyes from the corpse as Lee lead her up another flight of stairs.

They made their way up to a balcony that overlooked the whole arena. There was a hallway further on the level lined with doors. Lee entered the second to last door on the right, Clover entering right behind her.

It was dim inside, but Clover could make out a hulking figure sitting on the desk in the middle of the room. Lee quickly flicked on a lamp, and Clover finally saw the mysterious patient with the unique condition.

If she believed in the undead, Clover would've immediately yelled "zombie". His skin was a pale green color reminiscent of a monster straight out of a classic thriller, and he had a shock of white hair that grotesquely complimented his unnatural skin. Even from across the room, Clover could smell him. He stank like he had just bathed in swamp water, and Clover couldn't help but wrinkle her nose. The smell of death and decay was something she experienced daily in the Narrows, but this man was something entirely different. Everything about him was grim, including the dead look in his eyes.

If Lee took offense to any of his traits, she didn't show it. She simply approached him, setting the first aid kit down along with the various gauze and bandages littering the counter.

"Hello, Grundy." She greeted, sounding only a touch disgruntled.

Grundy, as that apparently was his name, didn't respond. He only gave a grunt, then set his cold eyes on Clover. She clutched the edge of her shirt tightly, trying not to wither under his rage filled gaze.

"Who she?" He grunted as Lee pulled a chair over to sit in front of him.

"My assistant, Clover. She's going to be helping out for a while."

Grundy didn't nod or give any indication he had heard her, only staring at Clover unblinkingly. After staring back in fear for a few moments, Clover quickly walked over to the counter facing away from him, fiddling with something so she could continue to hide. Something in his expression was unsettling, and if he was "the champ" Clover knew he'd have no problem tearing her head off. It was best to avoid aggravating him, although that would be hard considering he acted like a wary wild animal in her presence.

Lee patched Grundy up in silence, asking for Clover to pass her something every few minutes. Grundy would occasionally give an unsettling grunt or sigh, but Lee didn't even flinch. Clover couldn't help but think, ' _That woman's really got some balls.'_ She could imagine that Lee was probably a little bit of a badass, which may or may not have made her a little jealous. Clover had always been pretty mild mannered, at least to strangers, but had always dreamed of being the sort of self reliant woman who'd make her way in the world alone. Maybe there was still hope if Grundy didn't crush her skull.

The flow of Lee and Clover's work was abruptly halted by a man entering the room.

"Grundy my friend, we've done it again!" A familiar voice exclaimed in jubilation.

Clover's body tensed as a petrified feeling ran down her spine. She couldn't see the man who had spoken, but she didn't have to in order to recognize his voice. It was him, Edward Nygma, alive and kicking if his enthusiastic tone was any indication.

Grundy gave a dopey laugh and then a slapping noise was heard, presumably a high five between the two. Clover gripped the counter harder as she faced away from the room's new occupant. She wasn't quite sure what would happen if he saw her, but she didn't want to find out.

Lee chose that moment to pipe up. "Grundy did it, Ed." She pointed out in a deadpan voice. "You stood off to the side and watched him take a beating."

Nygma scoffed. "Well that's what managers are for, aren't they? Besides, look at all the cash we earned buddy!"

Clover heard a swishing that she assumed was Nygma flaunting his newly earned money. Grundy made an agreeable huff and Lee sighed.

"Clover could you pass me more gauze?" Lee asked, holding her hand out without taking her eyes off the wound she was dressing.

Clover swallowed thickly as she picked up the gauze and turned towards Lee, her hair obstructing a good portion of her face. She felt his eyes on her, and everything seemed to slow down. She could practically hear her heart pick up speed and wondered if everybody else in the room could too. Did he recognize her from that night of the explosion? Did he remember her from their awkward encounter at Myrtle's apartment? The questions ran through her head as she firmly handed Lee the gauze and turned around quickly, hiding herself from his eyes once again.

Nygma remained silent, but Clover couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, it felt like the temperature had increased by a hundred degrees and Clover prayed she could leave soon.

After a few moments Nygma asked, "So have you given any more thought to my proposition Lee?"

Clover could imagine that Lee was rolling her eyes, based on the tone of her response. "My job is to patch up Grundy as long as Cherry tells me to, you're not part of that deal."

"Well maybe I could convince you, Lee. If we could talk...privately."

Clover could feel his eyes boring holes in the back of her neck. Whether or not he knew who she was, it was clear she wasn't welcome here.

Lee exhaled. "Why don't you head home Clover? I've got it covered from here."

Clover nodded slowly, turning towards the door. Three sets of eyes followed her, and she couldn't tell whose gaze was more disconcerting. She passed by Nygma, seeing him in her peripheral vision track her retreating form with his eyes. She felt as if she was walking on hot coals.

"I'll see you next week." Lee called as Clover reached the door.

"Definitely." Cover choked out, quickly leaving the room.

Clover walked quickly down the staircase, ignoring the looks she was getting from the few patrons left in the club. She shouldered open the old wooden door at the front, grunting from the dull pain the she felt. It wasn't until she had mindlessly walked a few blocks down the street that Clover came back to herself.

Her toes curled in her shoes, seeking respite from the cold, but Clover forced herself to keep moving. She wasn't even sure if she was going in the right direction, but her main priority was to keep going until she found a bus stop. Eventually she saw one up ahead, the dull grey bench almost looking like heaven. Clover slowly shuffled towards it, placing herself on the very edge of the seat. She wrapped her arms around herself to shield the cold away, shivering with each gust of wind.

Her mind was still racing, and all Clover could think of to calm herself is something a therapist had told her a long time ago. She had said that any time Clover began to have overwhelming thoughts, she should think back to whatever had happened and talk herself through it. Putting the events in a logical light made them easier to process. It was something she had done on the night of the explosion, but forgotten about until now.

' _Just breath Clover.'_ She took a deep breath. ' _Just think about what happened.'_

First she had helped the little girl, Bailey, on the front steps of the apartment building. Then Lee had taken her to the clinic. She helped people, fixed their wounds. There was a pregnant woman there. Then they'd gone up to treat Grundy, and he'd scared the hell out of her. Then Nygma appeared.

"God damnit." Clover mumbled, rubbing the palms of her hands up and down her cheeks. "Just when I'm starting to belong somewhere, he shows up."

How could she go back there now? If she went again, Nygma was sure to recognize her, if he hadn't already tonight. And what then? What would he do to her?

Clover paused for a moment, mulling over the question in her head. What _would_ he do to her? When she had first met him at Gotham U, she'd been convinced he would hurt her if she called the police and told about him. But that wasn't right, it couldn't be. He was more than happy to have Gotham know he was behind the murders. He had flamboyantly announced himself to the entire GCPD. Nygma was proud of his crimes, and it began to occur to Clover that he had let her go that night for that exact reason.

She'd always just considered that night a stroke of pure luck. She'd assumed maybe Nygma didn't want to bother with her, maybe he'd been on a tight schedule, or assumed she wouldn't blabber to the cops. But no, he'd let her go because he wanted her to tell. A man with his size ego craved recognition and attention, and a witness to his crime was the perfect way to spread his infamy.

Clover's train of thought brought her back around to her previous question; what would he do if he recognized her? And the only logical answer in her head was; nothing. He might say something snarky to her, but why exert the effort in harming her? She'd been inconsequential to him really, and Clover wanted to slap herself for not grasping that fact before. Nygma had set of a perilous chain reaction in her life, but she was barely a footprint in the sand on his. He'd forget about her as soon as the tide came in.

However, there was still the issue of what had gone down at Myrtle's house. Clover had seen him during an extremely vulnerable moment, and she doubted he'd appreciate her living with that information. But, hadn't he been completely delusional during that time? He'd called her Kristen after all, so it was entirely possible that he hadn't even seen her for who she truly was.

Clover stared down at her hand, flexing her sore fingers back and forth. The truth was, despite everything she'd just realized, she was still scared of Nygma. He was a criminal, a murderer, and if she went back to the clinic she might be in his presence again. Could she really put herself through that fear again if it meant she might see him again?

Clover bit her lip, working it down with her teeth until she could taste blood. Working at the clinic had brought a life back into her she hadn't even known was missing. Medical work had been her life's passion once upon a time, and right now working with Lee was her only access to it. There was so much fear in that place, but also so much life.

Clover released her lip, beginning to grit her teeth instead. There was no way she was going to let some stupid, riddle telling man take it away from her. First he'd destroyed her university, and now he was coming for another outlet for her passion. But she wasn't going to let him push her out again, not when she'd found something that made her feel so alive.

Clover swallowed thickly, her resolve hardening around her like a shield of armor. Edward Nygma could engulf every space in Gotham if he wanted, but he couldn't have her space. It was hers, and Clover knew she could find a way to keep him out.

/

 **A/N:**

 **Pretty sure Lee's clinic isn't at the same place as the fight club, but oh well. Just another example of me ignoring canon for the sake of plot. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favorited. It makes my entire week when I see that people enjoy my writing :)**


	8. Chapter 8

In Gotham, and most cities, there are generally two types of people you can find among the night life at a bar. The first is the socialite, out for a drink with their buddies and looking for a good time. These people can often be found with their arm drunkenly slung around the shoulders of some stranger they just met, babbling on about their favorite sports team or trying to flirt with little success.

The other variety of bar-goers in Gotham are something Clover liked to call "forget drinkers", and they encompassed a much larger percentage of the crowd. And in a place like Gotham, how could they not? It seemed just about everyone was down on their luck, looking for some cheap booze to drown their sorrows. Forget drinkers were notorious for flocking to bars and clinging to their counters until closing time, receiving looks from bartenders that ranged from sympathetic to irritated. Clover was sad to say that she fell into the category of "forget drinker" on this particular night.

She hadn't started the evening with plans to end up at the fight club bar Lee's clinic resided under, but here she was anyways, throwing back another glass as she sat in the high chair at the bar. It had all begun when she got home from work earlier that day.

Clover had stomped home through the rain after work, regretting leaving her umbrella at home more with each step. She bore a striking resemblance to a drowned rat, and she felt like one too. The dirty water flooding down the street had completely soaked her shoes, and she had yet to check and see if they were salvageable. Her socks were wet and cold, making her toes tingle with displeasure. The only thing on her mind was getting home and drying off. Without much thought, Clover had stuck her key into the lock and pulled her apartment door open.

Immediately upon entering, Clover heard the familiar click of a gun and froze. She took in her surroundings slowly, her eyes widened with fear as she took in the burly looking strangers in her living room.

There were three of them, two skinny and gaunt with several missing teeth, one with thickly defined muscles bulging under his off-white wife beater. All three had guns, but muscle man was the only one pointing his at her. The other two had their guns trained on the fourth figure in the room, her father.

To his credit, her father managed to look pretty unbothered with the current situation. Despite the remnants of a black eye marring his face, he looked relatively unharmed, and even a little bit bored. Despite his calm demeanor towards the situation, Clover couldn't feel much of anything besides alarm as she slowly shut the door. Whoever these people were, she doubted getting their neighbors involved would do much, if they even bothered to help. Mob hits were pretty common in this part of town, and no one would risk their life to help a stranger.

The man with his gun pointed at Clover was the first one to speak, his voice sly. "Well well well Jack, this must be the lovely lady we've heard so much about. Ya never told us ya daughter was so pretty."

Clover doubted she was very appealing to a man like him, who was presumably part of the mob judging by his accent and get up, but his words still sickened her. It was clear he was trying to prod at her father with his words and appraisal of her body. His eyes trailed up and down her drenched form, but Clover didn't suspect that he saw anything enticing in her, except maybe the leverage she offered in whatever dispute was going on.

Her father didn't say anything, keeping the same blank expression on his face. Clover remained frozen in front of the door, not sure if she should respond.

The man slowly lowered his gun, then reached his hand out to Clover as an invitation for a handshake. He had multiple rings wedged on his fat fingers, their dull varnish lacking any glint.

"Nice to meet ya toots, I'm Robby, thats Lance and Vincent." He gestured behind him with his thumb at the two other thugs as he shook her hand in a death grip.

Clover nodded silently as he finally stepped back, not trusting herself to say anything that wouldn't betray her disgust.

Robby backed up so he was standing next to Clover's father, gripping the man's shoulder with his meaty hand. He winced, but showed no other signs of discomfort. Clover knew her dad had always been stoic, but she had no idea how he was holding it up under the circumstances.

"Your daddy owes me a lot of money, toots. A _lot_ of money." Robby didn't loosen his grip, and the other two gave her intimidating sneers.

"And when you don't pay up the cash you owe me, well that makes me angry." Robby casually raised his gun up, leisurely poking the end into her father's neck. She almost winced, but his finger remained limp on the trigger. One of the men, Lance if she remembered correctly, gripped his bat a little tighter.

Clover thought about reaching for the pistol in her coat, but knew it wouldn't be of use. She was vastly outnumbered, and them catching sight of her gun would throw any prospects of a peaceful conclusion out the window. No, her father's debt had finally come calling, and she had to fix things somehow. Violence towards the mob was only going to dig a deeper hole for her to climb out of.

"I'll have the money Robby, I promise." Her father said gruffly, voice strained from the gun pressing against his throat.

Robby tsked twice as he shook his head. "See, that's what you said last month too, but come pay time and ya still didn't have my money. That makes me think you're a liar, Jack. And I don't like liars."

It looked like her father was going to fire off another plea, but he was quickly cut off as Robby gave a nod to one of the thugs. The man quickly wrenched his shoulders back, pinning him to the back of the couch. Robby cocked his gun and shoved it deep her dad's mouth, using his other hand to tilt his head back so he was staring into his eyes.

Her father's eye finally widened as he gagged on the piece of metal in his mouth, his calm facade washing away quickly. Clover took a step forward in an attempt to intervene, but the second man had moved around behind her, grabbing her arms and twisting them behind her back. She let out a yelp of pain as they pulled in the wrong directions, her joints protesting. Tears sprang forward in her eyes as Clover helplessly watched.

"Do you know what I do to _liars_ , Jack?" Robby shoved the gun in further for emphasis, and her father let out a gagging noise as spit escaped his mouth.

Robby glanced at Clover again, satisfied with the terrified look in her eyes. "I shoot them Jack, in front of their _children."_

"No, please don't hurt him!" Clover cried out, wrenching forward only to be yanked back into place and pushed down onto her knees.

"This is what happens when you try to cheat me." Robby sneered, preparing to pull the trigger.

"Wait! WAIT!" Clover wailed, violently struggling against the man holding her. "I have five hundred on me, I can get you the rest, please just wait!" Hot tears were streaming down her face as she clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable gun shot. When it didn't come after a few moments, she opened her eyes again.

Robby hadn't removed the gun yet, but his eyes were trained on her, finger off the trigger. After a moment of staring, he raised his eyebrows in impatience, ordering her to elaborate.

Clover sniffed, taking a quick moment to regain some semblance of her composure.

"Th-there's five hundred dollars cash behind that picture frame." She gestured towards it with her head, her arms still being restrained. "Go ahead and look, it's all there."

Robby gestured for the man holding her father to go check. Sure enough, there was a large wad of cash behind the frame. The man handed it to his boss, and Robby looked at it like it was the most pathetic thing he'd ever seen.

He inspected it for a moment before letting it drop to the floor with a solemn thud. "Do you really think this is going to wipe away his debt? He owes me thousands."

Clover shook her head quickly. He sounded offended by the prospect of leaving with only five hundred, so she'd have to promise something else.

"I can get you the rest, we just need more time. I promise I can."

Robby scoffed. "And how exactly do you plan on that little miss? You selling yourself on the side?"

Clover ignored his remark, her eyes boring into her father's prone form. His was breathing heavily, but otherwise unharmed. If he was questioning how she was going to find the money, his face didn't show it.

"I-I have my sources. Please, just give us more time."

Robby glanced at his accomplices with an amused smirk, both giving him shrugs in return. It seemed she found her pleas humorous. But despite not taking her seriously, he slowly lowered his gun so that it now pointed at her father's knee.

Robby chuckled lowly. "You're cute, ya know that? Most girls wouldn't stick their neck out like that, they'd let the men do the talking. You're a fiery one."

Clover gave him a faint grimace. "I meant what I said," She reiterated her point again, "I can get your money."

He studied her for a moment, then gave her a smug smile. Robby's shoulders hunched in a silent chuckle as he opened his arms in an "Aw what the heck" gesture.

"Alright toots, ya got me. But only cause you're so cute."

Clover's eyes widened in disbelief. She hadn't believed it was going to work.

"But just remember," Robby said as he started for the door, his goons following behind him. "If I don't get what's owed to me in a month, your daddy goes kapow."

Clover quickly ducked her head as Robby fired a shot from his gun, the bullet wizzing by her head and shattering a window. The door slammed, and Clover could here the laughing and jeering of the men as they walked away. Even after they had gone, Clover and her father remained still and silent.

She couldn't remember much of what had happened after that (a side effect of the aptly named "forget drinking"). There had been yelling between Clover and her father, although he didn't lay a hand on her. Many things were said, or in this case yelled, but the argument had ended by Clover grabbing her coat and storming off.

Despite only going to the clinic for a week, Clover had immediately felt compelled to go there. If not to help out, then to just simply sit at the familiar bar surrounded by an atmosphere she had come to begrudgingly enjoy. She hadn't even given a thought to Nygma. After not seeing him from the few times she had stopped by during the week, her confidence about going there had been boosted.

So after trudging through the rain again, Clover finally ended up back at the fight club. She quickly assimilated herself into the "forget drinker" crowd and drunkenly bemoaned her life with the other patrons of the bar. It was difficult to hear over the yelling of the nearby fights, but Clover didn't mind. She was mostly here to complain about her problems and drink, not listen to others. Further into the night the conversation eventually tapered off, and Clover found herself sitting silently at the bar with no company other than a glass of whiskey.

Despite the events earlier that evening, the buzz from the alcohol made Clover forget everything. It was if she was underwater, everything loud and painful was muffled and blurry. She swayed slightly in her seat, contemplating why she didn't drink more often. When a figure slid into the chair next to hers, Clover hardly noticed him until he spoke.

"Well, what is a fine lady like you doing in a place like this? Don't see too many smokin' broads like you in the Narrows."

Clover's first reaction was to let out an uninhibited little giggle. She wouldn't have if she'd been entirely sober, but her fogged mind couldn't help but laugh at the twang in his voice. It was rare to find country folk in a place like Gotham. Her second reaction was to respond to him bluntly, without thinking much into her response.

"Currently? Getting piss drunk."

The man, who had obviously expected some sort of stammering blushing reply, lifted his eyebrows in surprise. He remained quiet for a moment, and Clover wondered if she had really shocked him that much. Then she noticed his gaze had traveled down to the top of her shirt, still damp from the rain. He was staring at her boobs like an dumbstruck idiot, and for the second time that day Clover wanted to punch a man for looking at her. Except now she felt brave enough to actually attempt it.

"Don't get too excited." Clover added, her words slurring slightly. She was a little more drunk than she'd initially thought. "I'm not drunk enough for you to get lucky."

The man's expression melted into an indignant frown. His eyes snapped up to her face and Clover could see they were bloodshot.

"What makes you think I'd get with a pig like you? I swear, you ladies always think you're hot shit, but you're just ugly."

Clover snorted. Usually she would've already walked away or disengaged from the conversation, but her liquid courage was speaking for her now. She was starting to remember why she didn't drink often.

"Oh, you think I'm ugly? Because that's certainly not what you thought when you used that cheesy line a minute ago. Go bother someone else asshole." Clover propped her elbow on the table, leaning her face in closer to his with a dismissive glare. She couldn't tell if he was intimidated or not, but was too drunk to care.

"You're not tough shit sweetie, and I'm not going anywhere." He sneered, grabbing her knee forcefully with his large hand.

Clover's face turned red with rage and humiliation. She wanted to scare him off, but a familiar feeling was pooling within her. It was the same helplessness she'd felt when the man at the coffee shop had grabbed her. It was as if something was suffocating her, and no matter how hard the gasped air refused to come.

"I'm warning you, b-back off." Clover said, her voice betraying her confident facade.

The man looked like he had something to say, but the smug expression on his face quickly fell. His eyes strayed to something just beyond her shoulder, then widened. His grip on her knee loosened, allowing his hand to go slack and drop to his side. Clover was afraid to turn around, not quite sure of what he saw. She didn't have to wonder for long, because the person spoke.

"Shouldn't you be cleaning the ring? Grundy has another match in twenty minutes."

"Sure thing boss." The man spoke quickly, avoiding eye contact with Clover as he slid off his chair an hurried past her. He clearly had a lot of respect, and fear, for his boss.

Clover remained still for a few seconds after he left, hoping, _praying_ , that his employer had also left. Though she told herself she was no longer afraid of him, there was no mistaking the apprehension she felt at the prospect of talking to him, and the little spark of excitement she felt. Clover turned her body back towards the bar slowly, almost wincing when she saw green out of the corner of her eye. He was still standing there, silently studying her through a thick framed pair of glasses. Clover took a sip from her glass, attempting to appear casual and unbothered.

He stared at her for a few impossibly long moments, before finally speaking.

"You use me every day, but never pay for me. I am truly yours but came from somewhere else. I am very personal but shared with everyone. What am I?"

Clover took a moment to process his words before furrowing her brow in confusion. Was he asking her a question? Her mind, slower than usual thanks to her drinking, corrected her a few seconds later. No, it said, he's asking a riddle.

' _Duh, that's like his thing.'_ Clover responded to her inner monologue before analyzing his riddle.

After mulling over it over for a few seconds, Clover turned her head toward Nygma hesitantly and responded.

"Your name?" She said uncertainty.

His eyes widened a fraction in surprise, as if he hadn't actually expected her to answer. Clover realized from looking at his face that he towered over her in her sitting position. She practically had to crane her head back to look him in the eyes. He was that close.

"Right you are." He responded, a wicked satisfaction in his voice. "And I believe I never caught yours."

Clover knew she should have been frightened by the fact that she was talking to a major league criminal, but all her drunken mind could think was, ' _Oh lord, he thinks he's being smooth.'_

"It's Clover." She said, immediately wondering if she should've given him a fake name. She figured he probably already knew it anyways and just wanted to play with her

Nygma's eyes widened with glee at her response, his expression akin to a child who's discovered a secret. He quickly schooled himself, but the flicker of light didn't leave his eyes. Nygma didn't supply her with his name in return; he knew he didn't have to. He adjusted his glasses, the pompous look on his face never dropping. Clover couldn't help but wonder what he was trying to get out of this conversation. Did he recognize her, or was he just trying to get to know the new staff member? Something told her that he wouldn't bother talking to her if he didn't have some underlying motive.

"I am a lady known by all, and a hindrance known by none. People often run out me, but can do nothing to gain me. What am I?"

Clover knew playing along with him would be a bad idea, but she was deciphering the riddle before she could even blink. She'd always had an affinity for puzzle solving, and if she didn't solve the riddle it would nag at her all day. Nygma stared at her deep in thought, giving her an amused look.

Finally, Clover answered, "What does luck have to do with anything?"

He gave her a patronizing smile. "Luck is extremely relevant, and you seem to have it in droves."

Clover swore she felt her heart stop. His tone was accusatory, as if he'd caught her in some sort of lie. She could only guess that meant he recognized her from the night at Gotham U. What else could he be referring to? It had been extremely lucky she'd made it out that night, and that was no doubt what Nygma was playing at.

When Clover didn't respond, Nygma's smug smile only widened more.

"Clover is such an apt name for you, considering your knack for fortune. Although I like your true name much better, June."

Although it was undignified, Clover couldn't help but gape at him. Here she'd thought he simply recognized her, but it seemed he knew much more than he let on. Hearing someone she barely knew call her June was so foreign and strange, and hearing him say it only nauseated her more.

"How do you-"

"Know your name?" He cut her off. "When Lee introduced you last week, I knew we'd met somewhere before. I remembered you from my trist at Gotham University, and from there it was as simple as hacking into their database."

Clover swallowed thickly, gripping her glass hard. She'd convinced herself a week earlier that Nygma wouldn't care about her existence, but it seemed she'd underestimated him. She wasn't just a nameless face to him anymore, and that was extremely dangerous.

She let the silence ring for a moment, before quietly responding. "What do you want from me?"

Nygma gave an amused snort, looking her up and down with a disapproving eye. "From you? Nothing. I can't imagine you'd be of any use to me."

Clover felt too relieved to be offended, but the relief waned as he continued on.

"I simply remembered our previous acquaintance and wanted to revisit. Afterall, you witnessed one of my very first masterpieces firsthand. And you were extremely lucky to make it out."

Nygma sounded nonchalant about the whole situation, but Clover was beginning to regain some of the confidence and anger she'd had earlier. He referred to the tragedy of Gotham University's bombing as a "masterpiece". How could he sound so proud of himself? Clover wondered how she ever could've thought he was more than a sociopath. His words angered her immensely, but she knew saying the things on her mind could end up getting her a marked grave. So instead, she focused on the next thing that popped into her head.

"It wasn't luck that got me out of there. You let me run away. Why?"

Clover already knew the answer, but she wondered how he'd respond. Would he be candid, or weave some tale?

"Well how could I kill someone who was witness to my brilliance? And besides, you weren't the target of that attack." A dark look settled into his eyes as he continued. "It was punishment for the idiot who failed me."

Clover remembered Professor Smith's fear and frustration as he had failed each of Nygma's riddles. His cries for help as he was locked in the lab never stopped ringing in Clover's mind. Clover felt impossible rage towards Nygma, but even more towards herself for not intervening. Even after months had passed, the guilt weighed on her heavily. Suddenly the sickness in her swelled, and Clover couldn't even look at Nygma. His penetrating gaze was too much to handle.

Luckily, their conversation didn't continue for much longer. A voice called out, "Next fight starting in ten!" and Nygma swiveled around towards it.

"Well, that would be my cue." He said, glancing back at her. Clover nodded silently.

"I'm sure we'll be in touch very soon Ms. Clein, I'm sure we'll have a lot to discuss." Without any other word, he walked away, knowing he had her right where he wanted.

She knew they wouldn't have a lot to discuss; their business was practically done. There was no reason for him to ever interact with her again. But Nygma thrived on playing these mental games with people. She'd seen plenty of evidence of that from his escapades in the paper. He knew there was fear in her, and he was eager to manipulate it into whatever sick game he wanted. Everything he said was backed by the intention to get under her skin, including his use of her real first name and last name. And as long as she let him under her skin, he'd be back to terrorize her again.

Clover downed the rest of her drink, the liquid sloshing around as her hand shook. The rational part of her brain that had assured Nygma wasn't a threat was sorely mistaken.


	9. Chapter 9

Clover's eyes narrowed in concentration as she delivered her last meticulous stitch. The black thread holding the flesh together didn't make the sliced skin look any less grotesque, but it did stop the bleeding. This particular patient had come into the clinic with a stab wound, shallow enough to miss puncturing any organs, but deep enough to require stitches. Mending these types of injuries had become commonplace in her new pseudo job, but that didn't make dealing with them any less stressful. Especially when the patient insisted on squirming and thrashing like a child. Clover had almost stabbed herself with the needle as she avoided their fits more times than she could count.

It had been a few days since her encounter with Nygma at the bar, and even more since she'd first agreed to work the clinic on weekends. She'd thought there would be no time to come every day, but the clinic almost became a sort of safe haven to her. Despite the looming fear of Nygma's return, things were great at the clinic. Her day job was so boring and monotonous that she left her shifts positively craving the rush working with Lee provided. Clover often found herself leaving for the Narrows straight after work, staying at the clinic until early morning hours. Even if she hadn't wanted to come in, Lee had been stretched so thin lately that it mostly fell on Clover's shoulders to keep the place up and running.

Apparently, Lee's former boss and simultaneous head of the club had been killed in action. This left a vacant position straight at the top of the Narrows food chain, one that Lee had gracefully filled after everyone practically begged her to take it. Now people were calling her the "Queen of the Narrows", and Clover could see why. The woman had a natural strength for leadership, and an overwhelming amount of compassion. If anyone was going to help the sorry souls of the Narrows, it would be Lee.

Clover respected Lee and her new role to the best of her abilities, but fell short on appreciating her new right hand man, Nygma. He hadn't so much as said a word to her since their conversation at the bar, but Clover felt his icy looks. Anytime Lee approached her, with Nygma trailing at her heels, he gave her that same calculated gaze. She felt as if she was a pawn on his chess board and he was trying to determine where to place her. Lee seemed comfortable with him, or tolerant at the very least, but Clover didn't trust him for one second. He was a snake, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he struck.

Patting him on the back, Clover lead her final patient to the door, shutting it gently behind him. Now that she was alone, she could focus on the other thing gnawing away at her mind. How to come up with money she owed Robby.

She'd thought of anything and everything that would provide a flux in her income. She could try getting another job, but a months worth of two minimum wage paychecks wouldn't pay back the large debt. She'd thought of taking out a loan from the bank, but knew it wouldn't be so simple and open even more doors to trouble. She'd briefly reflected on what Robby had suggested, about selling herself, but ruled that out as well. Not only was it degrading, but Clover doubted she'd get many customers. She didn't have much experience and didn't exactly meet the physical criteria, even if the standards for those women were unspeakably low.

She'd begrudgingly settled on the fact that the only way to make a lot of money within her time limit was to do something illegal. Under normal circumstances she would have never considered it, but these were dire times. Her first thought was to take money from the register at work, but even if she took it all there wouldn't be enough. She could try to steal someone's credit card or hack their bank account, but it was too risky. And even with her background knowledge on computers, she would have no idea how to go about covering her tracks and not ending up in prison.

She continued with these thoughts until she'd exhausted almost every option except one; robbery. It wasn't ideal, or even something she could see herself getting away with, but it was the safest option. Clover was fast at least, and she already owned a gun. It always looked so simple on TV. The criminal goes in, points their gun at some hapless clerk behind the counter, and they stuff all the money they can get into a burlap sack. Not complicated, right?

Clover leaned against the counter, tapping her fingers as she considered it. She'd have to do research of course, find the perfect bank to target, know the layout extremely well. In the matter of logistics, Clover knew she would have no problem. But could she really go through with it? Could she actually point a gun at someone's face and threaten their life?

Clover breathed in deeply. It wasn't a matter of if she _could_ ; she _had_ to, for the sake of her father. He wasn't a good man, and far from a good father, but he was the only family she had. She couldn't lose anyone else, despite how crappy he was.

Clover tensed as the door opened, Lee entering through it with her usual bold stride. She had transitioned from her usual doctor-esque get-up to something a little more befitting of a her new royal status. Lee was all sharp edges and sleek design, coupled with dark clothing and makeup. Clover probably would've hated the look an anyone else, but Lee somehow managed to pull it off.

Lee stood just beyond the doorway for a moment, glancing around the room with a sort of fondness. Clover let her have a moment, recognizing Lee's longing to return here. This was the space she'd poured her sweat and blood into creating, of course she'd would miss it. Clover longed to be here all the time, and she'd only been coming for a little over a week.

"I just ran into the a patient outside, Clover. He seemed pretty satisfied with his care. I'm glad to see you're running things so smoothly."

Clover smiled at her flattery. "I'm just following what you taught me Lee, nothing much to it."

Lee placed her hand on Clover's shoulder, a look of genuine gratitude on her face. "I'm serious. You taking over things here had been a huge help. It seems like I've been so busy lately, I have no time for what I originally set out to do."

"Are you kidding Lee?" Clover laughed good naturedly. "You started out trying to help the people of the Narrows, and look what you've accomplished! We're more united than ever, and everyone's spirits are certainly higher."

Lee smiled. "Still, I appreciate you devoting so much time to the clinic. I know it can't be convenient for you."

Clover pushed of the counter, squaring up to Lee. "It's no problem, really. This place has become like a second home to me."

Clover smiled affectionately as her eyes surveyed the room. Most wouldn't find comfort in a doctor's office, but the place made her feel at peace. Here she could forget about all her troubles and pretend like she was still studying pre-med at college, back when things were more simple.

"Well I'm glad you feel that way." Lee responded warmly, strolling over to idly inspect the diagram on the wall.

Clover suspected she had more to say, so she silently waited for Lee to continue.

"The truth is," Clover didn't like the tone Lee's voice had taken, "I didn't come down here just to talk about the clinic."

Clover swallowed thickly. "Oh?"

"I saw you at the bar a few nights ago…"

Clover froze. Was this about her conversation with Nygma? Clover couldn't imagine what Lee thought they were doing. Did she somehow think they were working together? Or maybe she was going to ask if he had threatened her. Clover fumbled for what she would say in response. Should she confess to everything? Or would that provoke some sort of retaliation from Nygma? She was having an increasingly hard time reading the situation. Clover stayed silent, nodding for Lee to go on.

"I know you were approached by one of the workers here. His name was Frank."

Clover nodded, trying not to show her internal confusion. "Yea, I did talk to a guy, didn't know his name was Frank though."

Lee nodded, her gaze set in an unwavering frown. Her next question almost seemed reluctant.

"Did you by any chance have any other interactions with Frank that night?"

Clover was beyond bewildered. She'd parted ways with the man after Nygma's interference, never wanting to talk to him again. She was blunt enough to tell Lee that.

"No, I never saw him after he walked away." She paused, scanning Lee's stony face. "What is this about Lee?"

Lee sighed, leaning her back against the wall in a more relaxed posture. "Earlier this morning Frank was found out back in the dumpster, dead. He had multiple stab wounds in his abdomen, looked like he'd been dead for several days."

Clover's neck jerked back in shock, Lee's previous implication finally becoming clear.

"And you think I had something to do with it?"

"Slow down Clover." Lee raised her palms in a placating gesture. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm only asking you because I thought you might know of his whereabouts later that night."

Clover shook her head quickly, heart still pounding. "I didn't see him again Lee, I swear. I left the bar a few minutes after he did."

"Alright alright, I believe you Clover." Lee assured her softly.

Clover's heart rate began to decrease slowly, but she was still weary of Lee. Crimes like this happened all the time in Gotham, but Clover had never dreamed she'd be the suspect of one. Even though she'd just been contemplating a bank robbery a few minutes ago.

The two stood in silence for a few minutes, Lee lost in thought and Clover trying to fight back the unwelcome curiosity blooming in her. Who had Frank been killed by, and what was the motive? She could think of a few, including someone's reaction to his sour personality. Lee finally broke the silence, letting out a grunt of frustration. Clover glanced up at her with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry Clover, I never meant to implicate that you did this..." Lee raised a hand to rub her temple. "It's just, how am I supposed to be their leader when I can't even stop things like this happening on my own turf? His family is asking questions, and I can't give them answers."

Clover's anger at her accusations began to dissipate. Lee really had a lot on her plate, and Clover could relate to the bouts of frustration that came with all that stress. And although Lee was probably more accustomed to such things, Clover sympathized in that she'd be upset too if someone she knew was murdered. Despite how sleazy Frank had acted toward her, she had never wanted to see him severely hurt. Maybe punched in the face, but not killed.

Lee looked like she was just about ready to yank her hair out, gritting her teeth together heavily.

"It's...alright Lee." Clover wasn't sure how to comfort her, but she'd try her best. "I'm sure you'll find out what happened. And even if you don't, you'll still be a good leader. You've managed to pull these people up on their feet before, you can do it again."

Lee looked up at Clover, giving her a faint smile.

"You're a good friend Clover. I know we haven't known each other for long, but I really appreciate everything you've done."

Clover felt her face heat up as she blushed. It wasn't often someone expressed appreciation towards her. It felt nice, if not a little unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

"Well thanks, I guess. Just doing what I can." She responded sheepishly.

Lee gestured towards the door. "Why don't you take the rest of the night off? You've earned it."

Clover wanted to tell her that there was nothing but worry and stress at home, but she just nodded compliantly instead. She didn't need to burden Lee with her problems, the woman had enough stress as it was.

"Alright then, have a good night Lee." Clover said as she deposited her latex gloves in the trash, then turned for the door.

"You too, be safe out there." Lee called as the door shut behind her.

' _I don't think I really have a choice.'_ Clover thought as she made her way down the hallway.

Frank, her unpleasant suitor, certainly hadn't had much luck with being safe. Someone had killed him in cold blood, stabbing him repeatedly through the stomach. Clover felt herself transition into a sort of detective mode, contemplating the murder she had just recently been a suspect in. There were multiple reasons someone could've had it out for Frank. The most typical ones were disputes related to money, women, or gang affiliations. His death could have been the result of a drunken fight or a mugging. The possibilities were endless, but Clover couldn't quite believe any of them based on the evidence.

He'd been stabbed multiple times with a knife. She hadn't witnessed many fights before, but through hearsay she knew most parties preferred to use guns. No, if someone was using a knife that meant that the fight must've been planned, at least by one party. If someone was going for a quick and easy kill, they wouldn't have bothered with such a short range weapon. The multiple stab wounds were another indicator that it hadn't been a mugging or random attack. There were exceptions of course, but most efficient fighters wouldn't go for more than one hit. The consecutive stabs all in the same location were an indicator that this murder had been one of passion, the perpetrator eager to get the job done.

Clover scoffed at herself, becoming aware of her train of thought. Look at her, trying to play Sherlock Holmes. Petty crime like this happened all the time in Gotham, and there was usually no rhyme or reason to it. Even if Clover did investigate the case, she had little to nothing to go off of. She had only talked to Frank for five minutes, and she had no idea what types of people he was affiliated with. Well, except for one person.

Clover's thoughts lapsed for a moment. Frank worked for the club, and Nygma by association. And Nygma had seemed pretty pissed when he'd called Frank to go do his job.

' _What am I thinking.'_ Clover thought. ' _What reason would he have for killing Frank? You're being ridiculous Clover.'_

But was she? It was a long, long stretch, but Nygma had murdered before. It was plausible he'd do it again. Maybe it was some scheme of his to throw Lee off her game, make her weak so he could take her place. But if undermining Lee really was his plan, killing Frank was an extremely roundabout way to do so. No, if Nygma was going to come after Lee he'd be much more efficient in doing so.

Clover shook her head, urging herself to let it go. It was really none of her business, and it would soon fade into another forgotten story of Gotham's long and rich criminal history. And besides, she had enough going on without adding another heaping of stress to her plate. She continued down the hallway towards the stairs, switching her train of thought to something more mundane.

But before she could reach the stairs, Clover heard something that made her pause. It was an angry voice, coming from one of the rooms. She nearly kept walking, but stayed put when she recognized the voice. It was Nygma, and he did not sound happy. She knew she should just keep going and avoid trouble, but her curiosity was overwhelming. Who could he possibly be yelling at? There was no one left down here aside from Lee, and she was still in the clinic room. After a moment of debate, Clover slowly pressed her ear to the wall, careful not to make a sound, and listened to his muffled voice.

It was quiet for a moment, and Clover wondered if she'd imagined his voice. Then suddenly, there was shouting.

"I AM IN CONTROL!" She winced as she heard him yell. Once again she told herself to leave, but her feet refused to cooperate.

He whispered something that she couldn't make out, and the silence reigned for a few more moments. There were no other voices speaking, just his. If Clover hadn't known any better, she'd say he was alone in there.

After a while, he sneered just loud enough for her to hear him. "You're _wrong_." There was enough venom in his voice to kill a cobra.

There was another pause then he began to shout again, and there was a sound of glass shattering. That was enough to make Clover bolt, quickly making her way over to the stairs. She didn't look back down, pretending to ignore whatever she'd just heard. She didn't see Nygma exiting the room, alerted by the sound of her hurried footsteps. He barely caught sight of her ankles and white sneakers as she reached the top of the stairs. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he watched her make haste towards the upper level.

/

Clover didn't sleep well that night, tossing and turning in her sleep. It was almost as if she'd reverted back to the state she'd been in before, having countless terrifying dream that made sleep impossible. In some of them she saw the clinic bursting into flames, Robby and his men being the ones to light it on fire. In other dreams she saw Lee dying, overcome by the flushed angry faces and beating fists of the people she'd sworn to protect.

In the worst of her dreams, Clover found herself standing in an alley, surrounded on all sides by men holding daggers. Her father stood behind her, Frank to her side, and Nygma directly in front. They all plunged their knives into her, a dream's imitation of pain flaring through her. When she looked over Nygma's shoulder she could see her brother sitting on top of the dumpster, watching her passively. She tried to call out to him for help, but that was where the dream ended. She woke up in a cold sweat at 4 am and refused to go back to sleep. Being exhausted was better than experiencing more torment.

She used the early morning hours to get a scope on the bank she had selected. Clover nervously entered the building, keeping her head down to hide her face. It was surprisingly nice compared to some of the other banks she'd been to. It even had a revolving door.

Trying to inconspicuously map her surroundings, Clover felt her hands tremor. When she'd gone into the Iceberg Lounge her main fear had been getting caught by Penguin. Now she was afraid of getting caught by the cops. If she ended up in jail, Clover was certain her life would be over. If she was going to do this, it would need to be perfect.

Clover knew there was more than one way to go about her robbery. She could either hold up the bank with a gun, or she could break in after hours. The second option sounded the most appealing, but came with its own set of problems. She knew she'd have no problem breaking into the place considering the poor security, but unlocking the safe was another problem.

Back when her Uncle Ryuu had worked in banking, he'd mentioned that most safes had standard combination locks. Clover knew how to pick a combination lock, but there was no guarantee that the bank used that type. But she supposed it was risk she was willing to take. It was either that or give up hope.

Despite her fatalistic thinking, there was one more option that had been nagging at Clover. But she really, really didn't want to go for it.

She had been considering returning to Myrtle and asking her if she had any more jobs. Clover doubted she'd have anything, or even be willing to pay a lot like she had last time, but her desperation was overwhelming. Somehow, doing something illegal for a crazy lady seemed less scary than carrying it out on her own terms. Clover chastised herself for her wishful thinking, but found herself heading towards Myrtle's apartment later that day anyways.

As she was wandering down the cracked pavement, Clover repeatedly told herself it was a bad idea, that she was only going to be embarrassed. Maybe if getting money was her only motivation, these thoughts would have turned Clover back. But admittedly, she was also simply curious about how Myrtle had fared. It was clear that Nygma was no longer staying with her. Clover wondered if Myrtle had become his sidekick, as it had seemed that was her main goal in life. Clover chuckled as she thought about how Nygma must have reacted, waking up surrounded by his own face and color scheme. Even though he intimidated her, it was fun to imagine him in such a predicament.

Clover recognized the street she had come up to. Myrtle's apartment was only a few blocks down. Clover continued down the street, slowing to a halt when she finally reached her destination. She gawked at her apartment, not quite sure how to process what she was seeing.

The front door looked like is had been kicked in, and the open frame was completely barred off by faded yellow police tape. It looked like it had been there for awhile. The small lawn spaces in front of the surrounding apartments were surprisingly well kept, but Myrtle's grass was overgrown and jagged from neglect. Clover didn't want to admit it, but she already had a good idea of what had gone down.

"It's a shame about what happened, huh?"

Clover jumped in surprise, turning her head to see a small elderly woman that had hobbled up beside her. The woman's droopy eyes surveyed the scene with resigned sadness, similar to the way most people in Gotham looked upon crime. Clover didn't say anything, but the woman continued anyways.

"She was always such a pleasant neighbor. Not sure why anyone would wanna shoot the girl."

Clover winced. There it was, the blow she'd been waiting for. She'd wanted to believe it was something else, but the police tape had made it all too evident what had happened. She'd seen in before.

' _Was this Nygma?'_ Clover thought to herself.

While it didn't seem like much of a thank you for saving his life, Clover could easily connect Nygma to this crime. Maybe he'd snapped after listening to Myrtle's chattering.

"Do-do they know who did it?" Clover asked, staring through the dark windows.

"Well there's rumors going around that it was Zsasz, but most of us think it was just a break in."

"Who's Zsasz?" Clover asked. His name sounded familiar to her, but she wasn't sure from where.

The woman let out an amused chortle. "You must not be from around these parts. He's an assassin on Penguin's payroll. It's all fooey if you ask me. What would he want with someone like her?"

Clover felt a drop of sweat roll down her face. Penguin had actually sent an assassin after her. What did that mean for Clover? It was bad enough she had to worry about Robby and Nygma, now she had to watch out for Penguin?

Clover forced herself to breath. ' _Be logical Clover,'_ she thought. If Penguin knew she was in on Myrtle's plan, she'd be dead by now. Zsasz would have come for her already if Myrtle had given her up. Chances were that Penguin probably suspected that Myrtle had worked alone. Clover wouldn't say she was in the clear, but the danger seemed too minimal to take first priority at the moment. Even if Zsasz was sent after her, he'd just have to get in line.

The woman continued on. "I just wonder when the landlord's gonna come clean the place and put it back on the market. It's been empty for over a month now."

Clover began to wander away, and if the woman said anything she didn't hear it. For all the wacky things Myrtle had done, Clover supposed she owed her in the end. Cobblepot had probably interrogated her, and she could've tried to shirk the blame onto Clover. But she didn't. Maybe she'd known it wouldn't change her fate, or maybe she just hadn't been thinking of it. In any case, Clover was grateful. Right then would not be a good time to die. She had a lot going on, and still had plans to go back and finish college.

' _Take it slow, one step at a time.'_ She thought, stuffing her hands in her jean pockets.

Her eventual goal was to return to college and at least graduate with her bachelor's, but that was a dream for the far future. First Clover had to get through her current predicament. Oh and yea, she had to rob a bank. That was sizing up to be an interesting experience.


	10. Chapter 10

Edward's body halfway hung out of the room as he watched as a familiar pair of white sneakers disappear over the top of the stairs. He'd just been having a very undesirable conversation with his other half when he heard the pounding of footsteps from outside. He had thrown the door open, just managing to catch sight of her as she left, running away from him once again.

' _Nosy nosy, Ms. Clein.'_ He mentally chided as he slowly shut the door to the small closet again, encasing himself in darkness once more. ' _Just how much did you hear?'_

He wasn't particularly threatened by her overhearing him, the girl held no power and had no means to threaten him, after all. She was really quite weak. And yet, she fascinated him all the same. Anyone could tell by looking at her that she was soft and innocent, hardly the the type of person to frequent an establishment such as this. It was also clear to him by the sight of her quivering nervousness that she was terrified of being in his presence. He smirked as he remembered her trembling when he'd approached her at the bar, her hazel eyes stretched wide at the sight of him. But she kept returning anyways, night after night to go work in Lee's little clinic. And for what?

Edward considered himself an expert at figuring other people out, just like his riddles. He saw right through Ms. Clein's facade of the caring doctor. The girl was not compassionate like Lee. He could tell she was self serving and cautious, as many Gothamites rightfully should be. Her willingness to return here just didn't add up. Every single obstacle she'd encountered should've been enough to send her running home, but she persevered anyways. She must have some circumstance outside this place driving her to come back. The slight provocation of a mystery was eating at him, an old familiar itch he was struggling not to scratch. Edward knew he had bigger fish to fry, yet the girl intrigued him enough to warrant investigation.

And why not take the time to solve a little puzzle at his leisure? Things were going great, what with his and Lee's defeat of Sampson and subsequent domination of the Narrows. He needed something to help recalibrate his brain to its usual standards, especially since Lee had informed him that his "dumbness" had only been a psychological effect. And he was just ever so curious to see what antics Ms. Clein was up to.

Edward smirked to himself. It was decided then, he'd make quick work of dissecting the girl then get back to business. And he might as well throw in the added bonus of discovering just how much she'd heard of him speaking to his other half. It wasn't as if she could prove much, but he might dispatch her anyways just for the sake of tying up loose ends.

Edward glanced at the broken shards of mirror littering the floor, grimacing at what he'd done in his rage. First he'd have to clean up this mess, then he'd investigate Ms. Clein's home. He'd gotten her address from one of his men for safekeeping, knowing he might need it one day. Ever since he saw her next to Lee, looking like one of the inexperienced interns that used to run around the GCPD, he'd known that she might come in use eventually. It was always useful to have another lackey under his thumb, blackmailed into his service using the incriminating information he was so adept at finding.

Edward's eyelids lowered as he remembered the first time he saw her. Her light hazel eyes had been so fearful as she looked up at him, pupils blown wides and dark, her entire body trembling in her curled up position. It had been the look of someone who truly recognized his superiority, someone who revered him for the genius he truly was.

He smiled slowly, savoring her shuddering image in his mind. Oh yes, this was going to be _fun._

/

Clover tried to maintain her composure as she grasped the next rung of the ladder. She didn't look down as she continued to climb, the wind whipping at the side of her hood. The goal was to make it the the third window from the left on the second story of the bank, but she feared she might pass out from fear before she made it. The ladder attached to the side of the building was old and brittle, threatening to give out from under her any minute.

When she'd gone into the bank a few days ago, Clover had hatched a plan on how to get inside. After noticing the ladder leading to the roof, Clover figured she could used one of the second story windows to get in without tripping an alarm. The only ones on the first floor were at the front of the building, and they didn't open or close. The windows of the offices on the second floor did have latches, much to Clover's relief.

She had gone into the bank claiming she wanted to take out a loan. She'd then been lead to one of the offices on the second floor, and managed to jam a small eraser under one of the windows before her consultation, leaving it slightly ajar. Clover knew it was a long shot considering any smart guard would check the perimeter for breaches, but as she made it to the level the window was on she was relieved to see the eraser was still there. Unfortunately, her entrance was not directly next to the ladder. She would need to skirt her way over to the window. Clover was just glad she'd gotten one facing away from the street so no one would see her clinging to the edge of the building as she edged towards it.

Clover slowly eased her feet onto the tiny ledge of the building, slowly moving one hand from the rung of the ladder to the first window sill. There was barely anything to hold onto, but her gloves gave her an extra grip. Quickly, Clover moved over to the next window. She was holding on for dear life as she moved her hold over to the next window sill. As she attempted to move her feet, she lost her footing. Clover gasped as her feet dangled freely in the air. She struggled to support her weight with her arms, fingers slowly losing their purchase. Luckily, she managed to catch the ledge with her foot again, stabilizing herself and supporting her weight again.

Clover grunted as she used one hand to push the window open, holding her breath to see if the alarm went off. When she didn't hear any blaring siren, Clover slowly pulled her upper body through the window. She cringed as she landed upper body first on the floor with a thump. She froze, waiting still in a heap on the floor. She slowly picked herself up after a few minutes passed and there was no sign of the guard. She adjusted her mask and hood, glancing around the room.

She'd already confirmed earlier that there was no security camera in the office, but she knew there were some in the hallway. She'd half to be extra careful and stick to the shadows. Clover opened the door to the office carefully, silently thankful when it didn't creak. She slowly made her way towards the stairs. She didn't know exactly where the safe would be, but she had a hunch it was located the first level, probably in the back area.

After making it to the bottom of the staircase, Clover looked around for the guard. From what she'd seen a few nights ago, he typically patrolled in the lobby area. Sure enough, Clover could see the thin beam of light from his flashlight as he stood in the lobby. She could hear the faint sound of music, and realized that he had the radio on. That would explain why he hadn't heard any of the noise she'd made. Without making a single noise, Clover slinked behind the front counter and through a back door.

It took her a few minutes, but Clover finally found the room with the safe. It she hadn't been so frightened, she would've thought it was glorious. It was massive and shiny, illuminated by the green light coming from a few automatic bulbs. Clover's excitement fade when she caught sight of the lock. It was electronic, not a combination lock.

She had expected a wrench in her plan, but she'd been so certain it would come from elsewhere. How sad was it to get this far, only to be stumped by a four digit passcode. Could she even attempt to hack it? Clover didn't want to find out what would happen after too many false attempts. Not one to give up so easily, she cautiously approached the safe.

The key pad glowed with a blue light, each digit revealing a different number. Clover stared at it for a long time. She was completely stumped. How was she supposed to crack the safe now? It seemed things were completely hopeless.

Some optimistic part of her piped up. ' _Don't give up just yet, there's gotta be a way.'_

Clover narrowed her eyes in concentration. She hadn't come this far just to come up empty handed, and she was going to crack this thing one way or another. She stared at the numbers more closely, urging herself to come up with something.

As she concentrated on the keypad, Clover's eyes widened in realization. Most of the the printed numbers were in perfect condition, the paint still dark. But four of the numbers, '2', '4', '8', and '0' were all deformed in some way. They were slightly more faded than the rest, or the black ink of the number was chipped slightly. Since all the other buttons seemed relatively unscathed, these must've been the numbers punched in most often. Still, that left 24 different combinations for Clover to try, and she had no idea how many attempts she'd get. She tried to think of a way to narrow down the combinations.

Chances were that it could've been completely random, but the password also could've been chosen based on significance. Clover remembered a picture she'd seen in the lobby from the day the bank had opened. The date on the picture head read, '6/02/84'. Clover wondered if '0284', the month and year of the opening day, could be the combination. It seemed like her best bet, and she took a deep breath as she prepared to punch it in. It was time to test her luck once again.

The keys beeped as she pressed them, and the machine seemed to take a moment to consider her attempt. Then, there was a longer beep and hissing noise as the door to the safe slowly opened. Clover would've squealed in delight if silence wasn't imperative. She couldn't believe it had actually worked. As the door slowly opened, Clover's jaw dropped at the piles of cash inside. It was more than enough to pay off her father's debt. Hell, it was more than enough to pay for her college tuition. Unfortunately, there was only so much room in her stack. After checking over her shoulder and stepping inside the safe, Clover got to work stuffing the wads of money into her sack.

She didn't keep track of how much she'd put in, knowing that a full bag would be more than enough. Maybe she'd pull a Robin Hood with the rest to make herself feel less guilty. Or maybe she'd buy a new car. She'd decide once she was out of here.

Clover continued to stuff her bag, momentarily losing focus of everything else. All of a sudden she heard footsteps behind her. Clover clutched her bag tightly, preparing to bolt at any second Before she could run, a smug voice spoke.

"I come in the night and take with my hands. I'll get you at home or right where you stand. What am I?"

Clover froze, every muscle in her body tensing imperceptibly. The good news was that the guard hadn't discovered her; the bad news was that someone much worse had.

"W-what are you doing here?" Clover whispered, refusing to turn around.

"Ah ah ah." Nygma tsked, speaking casually at full volume. "That's not the answer to my riddle."

Clover gritted her teeth. "A thief." She answered harshly. "What are you doing here?"

Nygma ignored her question, approaching the safe slowly. Clover kept her back turned, trying not to reveal to myriad of emotions crossing her face. How had he known she would be here? All common sense seemed to point at him following her. It seemed to be the most likely explanation, but why? It couldn't possibly be because he wanted the money for his own. She doubted he needed _her_ to gain access to a bank for him. Clearly a criminal genius should be capable of that by himself.

"And what a thief you are, Ms. Clein. I have to say, I'm slightly impressed that you cracked the safe on your first try. Although, you _did_ take your sweet time getting to it."

Clover finally turned around, taken aback at how close he'd gotten. Her eyes scanned him from the tip of his dress shoes all the way to the hat that sat on top of his head. He towered over her crouched form, eyes full of playful malice hidden behind his reflective glasses. Clover didn't need to see his eyes to read his expression. No, the self satisfied smile on his face told her more than enough about how he felt.

She ignored his backhanded compliment and repeated herself for the third time. " _What are you doing here?"_

Nygma scoffed. "Can you say anything more intelligent than that? And I should be the one asking what you are doing here. I was under the impression you were a far better member of society than this."

He gave her a look she couldn't decipher. It was horrendous to endure, but Clover slowly stood up, attempting to hold her ground. She wasn't sure how this was going to end, but there was no point in taking it lying down.

"Shouldn't you already know, you're supposed to be a genius after all. What, the old thinkbox not working today?" She bit at him.

Clover was surprised by what came out of her mouth, but didn't take it back. Nygma narrowed his eyes at her, clearly not appreciating the blow at his intellect. Slowly his expression evened out again, a hint of arrogance still remaining.

"Daylighting as a barista and moonlighting as a thief. I must say, you hold some quite interesting hobbies, Ms. Clein."

Clover wasn't even going to ask how he knew where she worked. If he knew she was going to be here tonight, she didn't doubt he knew all sorts of other things about her.

"Did you come here just to mock me, or was there a point to this? If you haven't noticed, I'm a little busy."

Nygma crossed his arms, leaning against the frame of the safe. Clover had only now noticed that he blocked her way out. She felt like cornered prey, and it evoked a sort of fight or flight feeling in her. At the moment, she was definitely leaning towards flying away.

"Oh on the contrary, there is a point." He enunciated the 't' loudly, raising up his gloved hand in an actual pointing motion. Whereas Clover's own gloves were a worn leather material, his looked like plush velvet. Maybe they actually were, his tastes were expensive enough.

"You see," He started, pausing for a moment to survey her again, "You are contradictory Ms. Clein. A living paradox, you could say."

Clover wasn't sure what that meant, so she just put a hand on her hip in an attempt to look confident, or perhaps just to find a place to put her shaking hand. She distantly wondered how long his little speech would take, and if she had time for it.

"You are a survivor, like most people in this city. You work long shifts at your tedious job, pay your taxes, do what you can to get along. You're content with just scraping by. By all accounts, you live off of subsistence. You're too complacent, too _afraid_ to want more." Nygma tilted his head to her. "You're not one to put yourself in danger. You'd rather flee from a burning building than help the others trapped inside." She flinched at his dig, trying not to remember that night.

Nygma gestured at her sack of cash. "And yet, here you are, trying to make off with everything you can carry."

He suddenly leaned in very close, causing Clover to stagger back slightly. Nygma didn't yield, pursuing her until she was close to the interior wall of the safe. His closeness elicited a surprised grunt from Clover as her back thudded against the wall. He didn't lay a hand on her, but she was pinned in place by his eyes. They almost looked black in the light, pupils blown wide like bottomless pits.

"It makes me wonder." His eyes fell to the crimson scarf she had wrapped around the lower part of her face, then back up to her eyes.

"What happened to make a survivor like you…" His eyes fell to her scarf again, and in her panicked haze Clover wondered what was so interesting about the damn thing.

"...into someone who desires?" He finished, his eyes lingering on the patch of skin near her collar bone revealed from under the scarf. It looked pale against the dark red shade, unmarred and smooth. Nygma quickly met her eyes again.

Clover didn't know how to answer his question, or if she even should. She supposed she could tell him that it wasn't really about her wanting more money; that it was about the necessity to survive. But knowing her business with the mob would give him leverage over her. The last thing she needed was to have something else to be extorted over. Clover tried to think of an adequate response, but it was hard to concentrate with his eyes boring into her and his body so close. She could almost feel the heat radiating off of him.

She finally settled on, "I don't know, aren't you supposed to be the one with the answers?" She whispered it quietly and with uncertainty.

Everything was quiet for a moment before Nygma huffed, finally pulling his body away from her. The stifling heat was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. Clover tried not to sigh audibly.

"Well I am certainly pursuing answers, although I'm sure you won't give them to me willingly." He paced over to her bag, inspecting the contents with an amused look. He clearly wasn't impressed with her haul.

"Perhaps we could come to a trade of sorts?"

Clover raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'd ever do business with you?"

"Why, when you have no choice of course." He responded, inspecting his suit in a relaxed manner as if he hadn't just made a threat.

"No choice, are you cra-"

"I'm NOT crazy, I assure you." Clover winced as he raised his voice slightly, afraid he would alert the guard. Every sentence he spoke edged her closer to a 5 year sentence in prison, if she was lucky.

Nygma took a second to compose himself. "We'll meet later this week, in a public setting if it makes you less antsy."

"And what makes you think I'd show up?" Clover retorted, back still glued to the wall.

Nygma gave her a snide chuckle. "Because if you don't, the GCPD might just get an anonymous tip about the recent robbery of Gotham Central Bank."

"You bastard." Clover whispered, her face contorting in anger.

"It's all up to you Ms. Clein. I'm not a man to be ignored."

Clover rubbed her face with her palm, sliding it up to grip at her hair. She was feeling so many things, mainly confusion and frustration. "W-why are you doing this? I'm nothing to you."

"Oh if only that was true. You are something to me. You are a conundrum Ms. Clein, one that I intend to solve." And just like that, he was back to looking at her dismissively as if she was a fly at his picnic.

Nygma slowly backed out of the safe, adjusting his suit which had sifted during his pursuit of her earlier. Clover could only stare, rendered immobile with pure bewilderment. What did he mean she was a _conundrum_? Was he really just doing this all for his own sick amusement? Clover was indignant more than anything. He was taking her life and twisting it into some sort of puzzle he could solve. Well if that was the case, she might as well make it a damn difficult one.

Nygma checked the expensive looking watch on his wrist. "Well it looks like that's my cue, I'll be seeing you very soon Ms. Clein. Don't worry, I'll be in touch."

He strode towards the door, and it took every ounce of control for Clover not to pounce at his retreating back. He stopped in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Oh, and I would hurry if I were you. The owner unlocks the doors in about...half an hour."

As soon as he disappeared from the door Clover went into action. She could be angry all she wanted later, right now she had to finish what she'd come for. After stuffing the last of her money into the bag, Clover retraced her steps to the window. It was still open, and she vaguely wondered how Nygma had gotten in. Not stopping to consider it, she hefted her bag over her shoulder and made the treacherous climb over to the ladder. As soon as she hit the ground, she was homeward bound.

Any other day she would've been worried about a thug approaching her, but the thought didn't cross Clover's mind. She was still reeling from the events of the evening. She couldn't believe this was her life now. It seemed like something life altering happened to her every single night. She had hoped that her robbery would put a stop to at least a few of the problems in her life, but she'd managed to open up an entirely different can of worms instead.

Dealing with Robby and his gang, though terrifying, was fairly simple. Clover knew what they wanted and she knew how to get it to them. But Nygma? She had no idea what his game was. He'd said he wanted to "solve" her, but that didn't give Clover much of anything to go off of. She couldn't help but wonder if this was his round about way of trying to manipulate her. It would make sense, with his newfound knowledge Nygma could make her do anything he wanted. The smug man had her in the palm of his hand, and he knew it too.

The situation aggravated Clover to no end, but she knew this wasn't the moment to dwell on it. She should be feeling happy. Her mission had been successful and her father was saved. But Nygma's appearance had permanently dimmed her mood. She couldn't even muster up the energy to feel guilty about what she'd done. It was like an oppressive cloud had fallen over Clover, following with its storm wherever she went.

Clover took the back way to her apartment, taking great measures to avoid the street cameras and traffic lights. She had done a good job at covering up her identity, but if any camera caught her returning home it would be a dead giveaway. Clover made her way up the fire escape to her apartment. She climbed through the window into her dark home. It seemed her father wasn't home. If he had been, he would've most certainly been passed out on the couch as usual. Clover couldn't remember the last time he'd been in his bedroom.

Clover went about securing the money, lining the wads of cash under her mattress. She stashed the rest far in the back of her closet, praying that no cops would come by asking to look around. If everything went according to plan, they'd never suspect her. She had no criminal history, and was wearing so many layers she hardly looked like a woman anymore. Clover relished peeling all those layers off, dropping each item on the floor until she was left in her undergarments.

Clover changed into her pajamas and deposited her heist clothes into a garbage bag. She'd take them down the curb later in the morning. It was a little over the top, but Clover wanted to make sure she disposed of all the evidence.

After making sure everything was in its correct place, Clover flopped down onto her bed. She was exhausted and sweaty. Even in her tank top and shorts, Clover felt like she was in an oven. She spread her body over the top of the comforter, her chest moving up and down with her gentle breaths. She tried to lull herself to sleep, but there was one last pesky though nagging at her mind.

How had Nygma known she would be at the bank? She hadn't told anyone, and she'd been very discreet about visiting it. She supposed he had just followed her there. Paranoia began to set in. There was no way to tell how long he'd been watching her. He knew about her job as a barista, and that wasn't on her college file. He must've had someone watching her for a few days. What if they were watching her now?

With that thought, Clover stared down at her pajamas and bit her lip. Despite feeling even hotter than before, Clover slowly moved herself under the blanket until only her eyes peeked out. She stared at her window, her upper face illuminated by pale moonlight. She gazed out at the building across the street. Was it her imagination, or could she see someone looking out at her from one of the windows. Clover blinked, and whatever she thought she saw was gone.

She quickly turned over, facing away from the window. There was no way to know if she was being watched for sure, but she sunk further under the blanket anyways. For some reason, she couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were looking upon her.

Clover didn't sleep well that night.

/

Edward studied the glass of scotch in his hand, lost in thought. He wasn't usually much of a drinker, but he felt the situation deserved celebrating.

Tonight had gone exorbitantly better than he'd expected. After seeing Ms. Clein's attempt at being discreet in the bank a few days ago, he knew something was up. He just never imagined he'd catch her doing something like this. He'd come looking for clues he could use to solve her, and found more puzzle pieces instead. He had thought that Ms. Clein was gradually easing herself into to world of sin that Gotham had to offer, but instead she'd dived right into the deep end. Right into his waiting arms.

Edward had to chuckle. He'd had the means to manipulate her before, although he suspected she had enough fire to fight back. But now? She was a practically under his control. She'd have to tell him everything, or he'd make her. It was almost sad how quickly the game was ending.

' _Someone's sounding and awful lot like me.'_ The other whispered, his reflection rippling in the warm brown liquid.

"I'm in control, I'm in control." Edward chanted under his breath. He heard the faded echo of his other half laugh mockingly.

He shook his head dazedly. What had he been thinking about? Oh right, his game with Ms. Clein coming to a close. He hadn't expected to get the upper hand so quickly. He wouldn't give her any leeway, but perhap Edward would allow things to drag out for a little longer. He knew he would figure her out inevitably, so why not toy with her a little first? Perhaps he could even create something new from the puzzle pieces of her life. Maybe he could create something entirely new after he broke her down, something much more suited to the things she kept buried under that facade of hers, the things only he could see. It might even be beautiful, like a butterfly emerging from the chrysalis of a soulless survivor.

Edward leaned back in his seat, taking a long sip from his glass. Ideas were already forming in his mind, and he took advantage of his privacy to give a smile of pure glee. Things were not over yet for Ms. Clein, not by a long shot.


	11. Chapter 11

Clover lounged on her ratty sofa, her legs leisurely placed on her coffee table. Her arms were lazily daped over the back of the couch with both hands occupied, an off brand cola in one and the remote in the other. She'd called in sick to work earlier that morning, claiming to be contagiously ill. In reality, Clover just desperately wanted some time to take a load off. She hadn't taken a any time for herself since the night at the bank, restlessly doing everything in her power to forget. And it was weighing on her. If the purple crescents under her eyes got any darker they'd look like bruises. Her boss had been pretty forgiving about her taking leave, seemingly moved on from her pushing incident a few weeks ago. The whole thing seemed so distant and unimportant now, considering everything that had happened.

Clover flicked through multiple channels idly as she eyed her tiny television set with disinterest. She desperately wanted to buy a new model with the money she'd stolen, but was still paranoid about drawing suspicion. It had been a few quiet days since the heist, but she was still on edge. Only part of that tension was caused by the thought of police investigation.

There'd been no contact from Nygma so far. She'd caught glances of him at the club, but quickly averted her praying he wouldn't notice her. With any luck, maybe he'd become so busy he'd forgotten about her. But considering that he seemed to fancy tormenting her as a hobby, Clover didn't think it was likely. He was probably just biding his time so he could watch her squirm. However, despite the tension and paranoia the followed her constantly, Clover kept going to the clinic. If anything she felt a little bit safer there, knowing that Lee would interfere if he tried anything.

Clover found herself stuck in a limbo where she was constantly waiting for something terrible to happen. For Nygma to contact her, for Robby to break down her door, for Victor Zsasz to assassinate her in her sleep. Actually, that last option wasn't looking too terrible compared to the others.

Clover paused as she came across the news station. Despite the constant flow of horrendous incoming news in Gotham, the anchors still managed to look chipper and polished. Clover would be forever jealous of the people whose job was to read off a teleprompter and smile. It was ten times better than being thrown a crumpled ball of cash and change with remnants of chewed gum stuck onto it, or taking unnecessarily complicated coffee orders that were impossible to remember.

"Welcome back Gotham, our second story of the morning is a follow up on the Gotham Central Bank robbery that took place a few nights ago." The news anchor spoke in an artificial tone of seriousness.

Clover perked up, a sense of dread curling inside her.

"It was three nights ago that bank owner Shelley Mercer opened her doors to find her head security guard dead and over thirty-thousand dollars in cash stolen from the safe."

Clover's jaw dropped. She hadn't done anything to the security guard. So then why was he…

Her thought trailed off as sudden, dreadful clarity hit her. Nygma was responsible for that, he had to be.

A video of a woman began to play. She was dressed in expensive attire, but her hair was disheveled and her eyes were puffy and red.

"Sanchez was a good man. He didn't deserve this, no one deserves this! I hope whoever did this rots in jail!" The woman dissolved into sobs of despair as her sorrowful visage faded from the screen.

A picture of the guard took her place. He was an average sized man with a wide smile and a mustache. He had his arm around a beaming young girl's shoulder, probably his daughter.

"Security footage shows a short figure entering the building from a second story window and going into the safe room. Police suspect a young caucasian male from ages fifteen to twenty-five."

A grainy, black and white piece of footage played on the screen. It showed Clover in her bulky attire climbing through the window and landing in a heap on the floor. She wanted to laugh at how ridiculous she looked, but nothing escaped from her.

"Police have yet to confirm if the robber killed Sanchez. The security cameras in the lobby were remotely shut off a few minutes after the criminal's entry. As of now, he is the main suspect."

Clover covered her mouth with her hand, exhaling harshly into it. She wasn't a suspect, which was undeniably good. But a man had been killed because of her. Her breathing became shallow and fast.

"If you have any information regarding this case, you can call the GCPD at this num-"

Clover hit the off button on the remote, watching as the screen flicked off. She could see her reflection in the blank screen staring back at her with wide eyes. It felt unbelievably hot all of a sudden. Clover abruptly stood up, tossing the remote onto he coffee table. She needed to go out and get some air. It was too cramped inside.

Clover grabbed a change of clothes and headed into her bathroom, locking the door behind her. She still didn't trust that she wasn't being watched by Nygma's hired thugs. She had meticulously checked the bathroom for cameras and felt it was the only place she could change safely. Clover quickly pulled herself into a pair of leggings and a white long sleeved shirt. She haphazardly threw on her pale green parka, not bothering to zip it up. After lacing up her only pair of boots, Clover headed out into the frigid Gotham air. She wasn't quite sure where she was going, but anywhere away from TV's sounded good.

She ended up taking the subway into central Gotham. It was a lot nicer than the Narrows, or less sketchy at the very least. Clover had almost forgotten what it felt like to walk outside and smell clean air instead of drugs and smoke. Although, one could make an argument that the air was far from _clean_ , as the scent of exhaust fumes was still ever present.

' _Maybe I'll take a trip to the country after all this is over and get some fresh air."_ Clover ignored the part of herself that smartly responded, ' _If this is ever over.'_

It seemed like each part of her life just bled into the next without pause or respite. Just when she thought she'd climbed back on the bull, it bucked her off again. It was distressing to think about, but somehow the walking helped put her at peace. She wasn't quite sure how everything was going to turn out, but Clover felt a little bit better walking among the crowds of people that filled Gotham's streets. Maybe if she just stayed here she'd be hidden from everyone trying to hurt her, just for a little while.

Clover followed the familiar sights of the city, leading herself to one of her favorite parks. She used to come there and read all the time during her freshman year. Being surrounded by nature did wonders for her psyche and actually helped boost her concentration. The place was barren now on account of the cold weather, but Clover still managed to find some beauty in it. The birch trees sort of looked like skeletal arms with thin bony fingers, twisting and reaching for the light grey sky.

' _Too bad it's not Halloween.'_ She smiled.

She walked up to her favorite bench, the sight of it greeting her like an old friend. As Clover sunk down onto it she wondered why she hadn't come back here sooner. She hadn't realized until that moment how badly she missed it all. She'd taken it for granted at the time, but being a college student seriously rocked.

Clover closed her eyes and sat for a few moments, enjoying the sounds of the city around her. Had it really been so long since she felt this tranquil? Her peace was disrupted when she heard a voice calling her name in the distance. Clover glanced up to see a girl in a pink jacket walking towards her, silky blonde hair piled on top of her head. Clover felt a wary smile stretch across her numb face.

"Clovey, is that really you?" The girl called again, breaking into a trot as she came closer.

Clover stood up, waiting for the inevitable hug she would receive. "Hey Kelly, long time no see."

"It is you!" Two arms wrapped themselves around Clover and squeezed, crushing their torsos together. Clover wheezed, but otherwise tolerated it. Kelly finally released her after a moment, keeping her hands on Clover's shoulders as she looked down at her with a smile.

"Oh my gosh it's been so long! How have you been? _Where_ have you been? Have you spoken to Maria recently? She and I-" Kelly fired of several questions at once in rapid succession. Clover decided to tackle them one at a time.

"I'm doing well, how have you been Kelly?" Kelly seemed to settle down a little bit, but there was still excitement zipping through her. If she had a tail, it would be wagging.

"I'm doing great! Me and the gang have been hanging out a lot since Gotham U. is still under construction. I tried calling you, but you never picked up."

Clover tried not to look guilty. "The gang" Kelly was talking about was the group of people Clover had befriended in college. In truth she hadn't been very close to them, but they'd had some fun together. Clover had thought of their well-being briefly after the bombing, but life had been too hectic to give them much thought since then. She'd been so busy since the explosion that she hadn't even thought of going out with her friends. When everything in Clover's life was going down the drain, she'd stopped waiting for their calls. She rarely answered the phone anymore.

"Oh, my bad. We got a new landline a few months ago, the number changed." Clover said sheepishly. It was a sorry excuse, but Kelly bought it anyways. If she didn't she was too polite to call her out.

"Well we need to catch up girl!" Clover had forgotten just how perky Kelly was. Did she really used to not be annoyed by that?

"How about we go for coffee?" Kelly offered. "It'll be my treat." She added with a big smile.

Clover didn't really want to, but the sound of free coffee was too enticing. She desperately needed something to thaw her face.

"Alright," Clover nodded. "That sounds good."

"Yeah!" Kelly cheered, linking their arms and babbling on and on about the "quaint coffee house" she was taking her to.

Clover just nodded along, adding some "hmms" and "yeahs" to the mix occasionally. As much as she wanted to be engaged in the conversation, she couldn't help but feel a little miffed that her peace had been disturbed. She'd been feeling nostalgic for college, but maybe not so much the social aspect.

The funny thing was, she couldn't recall ever disliking Kelly back when they'd hung around at Gotham U. Clover had always respected Kelly for her optimism and creative spirit, even coveting it at times. Now she seemed different, her constant flow of words and affection verging on overbearing. Everytime Kelly put her hand on her, Clover struggled not to tense up in displeasure. When you lived in the Narrows, someone being casual with you like that meant you were probably getting pickpocketed. She'd learned that her second week living there.

Realization suddenly hit Clover. Kelly wasn't the one who was different, it was her who had changed. Kelly had simply continued on with her cushy life, going to parties on weekends and dating lots of pretty boys. Clover had taken a different path, and she'd been irreparably altered along the way. She wondered what she looked like now from Kelly's end.

Clover's frigid body melted as the two entered the upscale coffee shop. The heating felt like heaven compared to the tundra outside. Kelly ordered for the both of them, and Clover was sort of flattered that she still remembered how she liked her coffee. Of course, Kelly ordered the sweetest most caffeinated item off the menu, as usual. No wonder it seemed like she was constantly hyper.

The two sat and chatted for a little while, Kelly doing most of the talking. Their conversation mostly centered around social drama (because what else did Kelly ever talk about?) and Clover felt herself zoning in and out at several intervals. But despite how droll the conversation had become, Clover had to admit that it was somewhat nice to just talk casually to someone. The closest she'd gotten in a long time to a friendly conversation was her frequent talks with Lee, but even those had stagnated and faded away. The topics they conversed on were mundane, but it did help Clover forget about her troubles for a little while.

After a brief lull in the conversation, Kelly finally piped up with a topic that Clover didn't feel completely neutral towards.

"So when are you starting back up with your studies?"

Clover blanked out as Kelly continued on, not noticing the slack look on her face.

"I've been taking some of my courses down at the Y since they switched there, but the main building should be reopen any time now and I heard they're offering a psychology course and I really wanna take it because it sounds cool and plus that way I'll finally know some brainy sounding stuff. Plus I heard the professor is a total hottie. So what about you?"

Clover could feel her face turning red. She'd thought her prideful ways had been swept away after every humiliating thing that had happened, but she was wrong. There was no way she could suffer the embarrassment of telling Kelly she dropped out. Kelly wouldn't get it anyway; they never did. She was from a particular breed of Gothamite that had never had to worry about money. She'd probably suggest that Clover just get a job, not considering that minimum wage was no way to pay a tuition.

Clover fumbled for a response. "Well you know...my dad's kinda sick right now and I wanna be there for him. Maybe after he gets well again…"

Kelly nodded quickly in understanding, even though her eyes were vacant of any such thing. It was just something social required, nod along sympathetically to the sad story so Clover wouldn't prolong it by baring every excruciating, vulnerable detail. No, god forbid they talk about anything of actual substance. No one wanted to hear about dying parents of illness, it was uncomfortable to listen to. Especially if you could afford to see top notch physicians and never suffered from anything worse than a cold. Clover resented Kelly's reaction, but she also begrudgingly understood that it was a trained one.

Suddenly, Kelly's eyes locked onto something just beyond Clover's shoulder. A look settled onto Kelly's face that she knew oh too well.

One of Kelly's favorite pastimes back in college was to play matchmaker with her friends, and there was no one she liked jerking around more than Clover. She had been subject to that look multiple times, right before being pushed at some unsuspecting frat boy, concession stand worker, janitor, you name it. More often than not Clover would simply humor Kelly by talking to her new "love interest" for a few minutes before reporting back that he just wasn't the one. Her intentions were good, but Clover had grown tired of it after awhile. Why couldn't Kelly just focus on her own love life instead of playing with Clover's total lack of one?

A devious grin stretched across her cheeks. "Don't look now Clover, but there's a cutie behind you giving you a look."

Clover sighed, not bothering to even glance behind her. "I'm sure there's just something stuck to the back of my jacket."

She felt up and down her back, coming up with nothing. Still, he could be staring for any reason. Maybe he was just a creep; Gotham was in no short supply of those.

Kelly peeked at him again with that mischievous twinkle only for her eyes to quickly dart away. "Whoops," She giggled, "I think he saw me looking."

Clover restrained the urge to sigh. It was as if she was in second grade again. Maybe she should send him a letter asking if he _liked_ her or if her _like-liked_ her.

"I'm really not interested in you setting me up with a random guy again, so if you don't mind…"

Kelly gave her a pleading look. "But Clover, he's so hot! Well I mean, he's more like cute. Like kinda in a nerdy way, ya know? And he looks so put together! Well, maybe a little too put together... Clover I think he might be gay!"

Clover rested her forehead in her palm, trying to block out every idiotic thing she was saying. After ignoring her rambling for a minute longer, Kelly let out a gasp. Clover looked up to see her staring her watch in alarm.

"Oh my gosh, I totally forgot I have a spa session scheduled at 2! I'm so sorry Clover, but I'm gonna have to dash. Maybe we can continue some other time?"

Clover sent her a genuine smile. It was finally over.

"Of course, go ahead. And thank you for the coffee."

"You're certainly welcome! I'll say hi to the others for you!"

After throwing out her farewell, Kelly quickly rushed towards the door, twisting her scarf around her neck as she went. It was only after she was gone that Clover realized that Kelly had failed to ask for her "new number". But maybe not so surprisingly, Clover found that she didn't really care. She knew there would always be a fondness in her heart for the memories they'd created together, but in the end they had grown too far apart for things to ever be the same. Kelly would continue being her quirky self, while Clover would dive deeper into the underbelly of Gotham. While it wasn't exactly a pleasant thought, Clover was content with it.

She sat there for awhile longer, sipping on her now lukewarm coffee. It really was good, at least ten times better than what she served at her own job. Clover distantly wondered if this place was hiring.

A body hastily slid into the vacated seat in across from her, and Clover nearly groaned. She should've known her distant admirer sounded a little too familiar. The real hint had been the "put together" comment. For all his flaws, Nygma really did know how to dress. He was wearing an expensive looking green pea coat with a black turtleneck and slacks. If she had the gall to look under the table, Clover suspected she'd see a pointy pair of men's dress shoes, probably patent leather. All he was missing was some sort of snazzy hat.

Clover supposed she should've been afraid that the encounter she'd been anticipating for days had finally come to pass, but she was too pulverized from Kelly's questioning to really care. Plus they were out in public, so it wasn't like he could do anything violent. A thought in her mind echoed that if he really wanted to kill her, he wouldn't mind getting his hands dirty in front of everyone there. She chose to ignore that thought succinctly, taking another long sip of her coffee before placing it on the table firmly.

Nygma had made himself comfortable, his arms crossed as his upper body leaned on the table, a smirk ever present on his stupid face. Kelly had called him cute, but all Clover saw was a cold smile and even colder eyes.

"Do you really have nothing better to do than stalk me?" Clover started, knowing that she was playing with fire. Was she really ready to exchange verbal repertoire with The Riddler?

He was completely unfazed, smirk never falling from his face. "I did say we'd be in touch."

"Yeah well," Clover gave him a pointed gaze, "I thought that meant you'd give me a call or something, not follow me around Gotham."

He flexed his fingers and relaxed his hand a few times, never breaking eye contact. Clover finally had to look away out of sheer discomfort.

"I prefer to carry out all my business in person, Ms. Clein. I find there's a certain charm to doing things the old fashioned way."

Clover's eye twitched, but she gave no other indication of her annoyance.

"Call me Clover please, Ms. Clein sounds so stuffy."

Apparently Nygma found something of interest in that, because he steepled his long gloved fingers together and rested his chin on them. He looked like he was getting ready to pay close, close attention.

"Tell me, Clover," She shuttered when he said her name. Maybe Ms. Clein really was better. "When did you acquire your nickname? Why not just stick with June?"

"Why should I tell you anything?" Clover shot back. She realized that she sounded like a petulant child, but she didn't care.

Nygma gave her a stern look. "Have you forgotten that I have evidence implicating you of a certain crime? A crime that will lead to you spending multiple years in a cell."

Clover's eyes widened, quickly looking around her to see if anyone had heard. Nygma chuckled under his breath. She looked so cute when she panicked.

Clover shot him a glare as she finally calmed down. "Okay fine. I'm not sure why you're so interested, but if it gets you to be quiet."

He simply gestured for her to begin, leaning back in his seat to observe her from an elevated posture. Once again, Clover was reminded of their palpable height difference.

"Well, when I was really little I got sick with meningitis. The doctors really weren't sure if I was going to make it." Clover glanced up at him, feeling very vulnerable all of a sudden. He just stared at her with that same neutral look. Clover pushed herself to continue

"When I was sick in the hospital, my brother gave me this four leaf clover he found outside. I kept it by my bedside for as long as it stayed alive. I eventually made a full recovery, even though no one had expected me to. My dad started jokingly calling me Clover after that, saying I had incredibly good luck. And well I guess it just stuck." Clover shrugged her shoulders.

She'd told the story countless times, but doing the same with Nygma just felt strange. She felt extremely vulnerable sharing personal about herself with him, no matter how insignificant the information was.

To his credit, Nygma didn't really react to her story in the malicious manner she expected. He just continued to scrutinize her with dark eyes, imaginary gears turning in his head. Clover was just about ready to break the uncomfortable silence when he spoke again.

"Tell me about your brother." He commanded, long gloved fingers idly tapping on the table.

Oh he was thinking alright. Clover was a bit nervous that Nygma had fixated on Zach so quickly, but she figured that more hesitation from her would increase his suspicion.

"Well, he's about five years older than me. He kinda looks a lot more like my mom than I do…" Clover trailed off, not quite sure what to say next. Nygma didn't prompt her, so she just began talking about his personality.

"Zach was always really into science. He used always go on and on about genetics and cells and whatnot. He kinda did sports to, but mostly as a hobby. He was definitely the prodigy in our family, even got into Princeton. He was shaping up to be a real-"

"Why use the word 'was'?" Nygma cut her off.

"What do you mean?" Clover responded with unease as she belatedly realizing her mistake.

"You keep describing him in the past tense, as if he's no longer around."

"Oh!" Clover laughed nervously. "He's not dead or anything, we just haven't talked for a while."

"Care to elaborate?" It was worded like a question, but Clover knew it was a demand.

She clenched her jaw, shooting him a glare. "I'd really rather not." He didn't seem to like that, so she attempted to redirect the conversation. "Why are you so interested in me anyways. Has it really been that long since you've talked to a girl?"

It was Nygma's turn to give her a nasty look. "Must I really explain it to you again?"

Clover wondered if glaring competitions were a thing, because she had definitely just entered one. "Oh yes, please enlighten me oh intelligent one."

Nygma ignored her sarcasm, moving his face closer to hers. Clover would've moved back if she'd been feeling like her usual self, but she held her ground instead. He was close enough that she could reach out and rip his glasses off his face if she really wanted to. Oh boy was that thought tempting.

"Allow me to enlighten you then, Clover." There it was again. The way he said it was unlike anything she'd ever heard before. Clover hated it.

"You are the embodiment of the average citizen. On the surface you are a naive little girl who has had the misfortune of being thrown in over your head too many times to count. You blush and you tremble as if you are entirely naive to this cruel life that festers in Gotham. You just work at your cute little job, just barely getting by, struggling to pay your poor ol' dad's medical bills."

Clover was getting pretty sick of him knowing her private information, but didn't have time to interject before he carried on.

"I am an excellent judge of character, and I saw you for exactly what you are, or what I thought you were, all those months ago. By all accounts it was clear to me that you were nothing more than a speck of light waiting to be snuffed out in the collapsing star that is Gotham."

Clover glanced down at his clenched fists, wondering if he hear the tight stretching sound of leather as they contracted. She decided to stare at them rather than look into his burning eyes.

"But, and I am _loathe_ to admit this, I was wrong. Yes, you are all of those things, but you are also the exact opposite. You're self serving, and yet you work ungodly hours at Lee's clinic. You are a coward, but you continue to come to a place that frightens you. You're ignorant, but continue to meddle in things you don't understand. You have morals, and yet you'd rob a bank blind. For every cliche, overly predictable action you take, you mirror it with the exact opposite."

Clover shook her head in vehement denial. The man was a lunatic and had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. She wouldn't let herself be caught up in the words of someone who was certifiably insane.

"And that is why I'm so interested in unlocking your secrets. It's so rare that I find a puzzle, a paradox such as you, that challenges my intellect. I won't lie, despite how droll you are, you fascinate me."

Clover gave him a wide eyed look, struggling not to give away the trembling of her hands. In no way did she view his underhanded compliment towards her in a flattering light, but those words, " _you fascinate me,"_ spurred an uncomfortable beating in her chest. Accompanied by the enrapturing look in his eyes, the undefinable emotion sweltering beneath the surface of her skin was threatening to spill out like lava from a volcano. The feeling was itching to be acknowledged, but she refused to at this moment in time. Clover quickly searched for anything to latch onto, anything to distract her from the torturous mix of fear and excitement swarming inside her. Luckily, her mind was just able to come up with some meager defense against his tirade.

' _He's so used to knowing everything, but he doesn't know me. He's determined to figure me out, which means that he'll keep me around as long as I'm a mystery to him.'_

That meant she couldn't show her cards right away. The quicker she gave away information, the sooner her usefulness would pass. It would be hard with the blackmail he was holding over her head, but Clover would have to find a way to prolong their encounters. As much as she hated the idea of spending more time around him, maybe he would eventually give up and leave her alone. It was unlikely, but her best option by far. But how was she going to keep him from asking her every single question he had at once.?

An idea popped into Clover's head. She smoothed her hands, still minutely shaking, down her legs in an attempt to calm herself. Perhaps if she could be just clever enough, she'd make it out of this ordeal with her sanity intact.

"Well that was... a lot." She said dumbly. Nygma glanced up at her, giving her the go ahead to continue whatever she had to say.

Clover laid things out rationally in her mind. Nygma was an egotistical sociopath with a compulsive personality. Once he was set on something, he was going to see it through. What was the only thing she offer in order to throw him off his tracks? The same thing that engrossed all men. Talking about themselves.

"So since I so obligingly answered your questions, how about we talk a little about you?"


	12. Chapter 12

" _So since I so obligingly answered your questions, how about we talk a little about you?"_

In the moments following her spontaneous question, Clover immediately realized how idiotic her strategy was. And apparently Nygma did to, because he shot her an expression one would usually reserve for the most insipid thing they'd ever heard. Whatever he'd been expecting from her, clearly that was not it. But still, his confusion was good. He'd be distracted from what he'd been intending to grill her on next.

"Well that's quite a way of switching the topic." Nygma finally offered, his eyes now full of suspicion.

He wasn't fooled by her attempt to reverse their roles in the slightest. Her attempt to derail his intimidating pursuit of knowledge had been in vain. Before Clover could begin searching for another way out of the conversation, Nygma spoke again.

"Alright, I'll humor you, but only because we have all the time in the world to return to our previous subjects. You're not getting out of it that easily." He chuckled softly, infuriatingly, under his breath. "Ask away" He reclined himself again, gesturing lazily with his hand and looking much more relaxed than he had a few minutes ago

Clover didn't like his implication that the focus of the conversation would be switched back to her eventually, but quickly forgot about her concern in favor of mulling over what she would ask. He was actually agreeing to talk about himself, something that, in hindsight, wasn't too surprising. He was, afterall, known for his highly egotistical and self centered behavior. Clover hadn't really thought about it before, but there were actually a few things she wanted to know. Since this may be her only chance, now would be the time to ask the questions she needed answers to. Her first one shot out impulsively.

"Did you...kill that man. The guard at the bank?" She felt queasy just asking it. Maybe starting with the big hitter questions wasn't such a good idea.

"Well of course. You really couldn't have surmised that on your own?" He raised one eyebrow, his head tilting down to give her a pointed look.

"No I knew...I just…" She took a deep breath. "Why?"

Nygma rolled his eyes. "He was in my way? Is that a good enough answer for you?"

Clover shook her head. "No actually, it's not. Coroner's report said he was stabbed twice in the gut." She looked Nygma up and down. He looked proud of himself.

"But that's not your M.O., is it?" Clover added, watching the pride wash off his face with a tiny amount of satisfaction.

"What do you mean by that?" He sounded irritated, but also vaguely interested. Like he was trying to keep something secret.

Clover took a deep breath. "You don't usually murder needlessly. You could've avoided the guard if you wanted to, saved yourself the trouble. Even I managed to do that. No, you murder to prove a point Nygma, to serve a purpose larger than anger or blood lust."

There was a glint of...something in his eye. Nygma steepled his fingers under his chin and leaned forward, a profound intensity emanating from him and smothering her. Having his full attention was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"So then, since you've got me all figured out, explain to me why I killed him Clover."

That was the part she hadn't quite solved yet. He'd left no evidence he was there, so it wasn't as if the guard's death was an omen of The Riddler's return. The bank had been fairly easy to break into, something Clover was still marveling at, so Nygma really had no reason to kill the guard unless he was being reckless. But Nygma was never reckless, it just wasn't like him. He was intelligent and precise, carefully calculating his every move. So if murdering the guard wasn't to leave a message, and it wasn't to get inside, what was left?

Clover's hands fisted in her lap, a dark thought crossing her mind. "You did it so I'd look like even more of a criminal. So that if you do ever reveal that I was the one who broke in, I'll get more than a couple years in jail."

She glanced back up into his eyes, not realising she'd even broken away. His mouth was quirked into a smirk of sick satisfaction. Clover ground her teeth together as anxiety filled her gut. With all all the evidence he had over her, Nygma's blackmailing prospects amplified exponentially. He had her wedged directly under his thumb. And for what? Just the fun of it? The psychopath seemed to take glee in the panic accumulating and showing itself through her mannerisms, such as the heavy thumps of her tapping fingers against the table, or her jiggling left leg.

"Well aren't you clever?" She probably imagined it, but he sounded the slightest bit impressed.

He continued, "I must say, I find it surprising that you figured out my motive so quickly. I've baffled more intelligent people for much longer."

"It wasn't that hard." Clover quipped defensively. She backed up a little bit, reigning in her confidence when Nygma scowled. "I mean, it was just the most logical option. Once I ruled out the other possibilities I mean." She finished quietly, averting her gaze to the table.

"Well how about we put you to the test then and see how easy you find that?" He challenged, eager to stump her budding intellectual confidence.

Clover didn't need to wonder how he was going to test her. She just hoped she wouldn't embarrass herself to quickly.

"Riddle me this: The man who builds me doesn't want me. The man who buys me doesn't need me. The man who needs me doesn't know it. What am I?"

Clover initially had no idea what he could be talking about. What sort of product could embody all of those qualities? Immediately, her mind was racing with panic. She quickly told herself to slow down and just consider the components of the question. She was looking for a physical item, implicated by the fact that a man made it. It also had to be something that isn't bought by someone who needs it. Could it possibly be a gift? Somehow that didn't seem right. The last part of the riddle stumped her. How could someone not know they needed something, unless there was no way to know.

She glanced at Nygma, who was looking more and more self satisfied by the second. She'd be damned if she let him feel superior. After thinking hard for another few seconds, Clover finally thought of what seemed to be the most likely answer.

"Is it a coffin?" Her voice was unsure, but Nygma's sudden look of surprise told her everything. She was right. And a little bit concerned about how morbid his initial riddle was.

"That one was easy." He dismissed. "A child could have solved it."

Clover's victory was making her feel bold. She was sure it would come to bite her in the ass down the line, but it just felt so empowering.

"Feel free to ask another, Nygma. I'm all ears." It was her turn to smirk at his flustered expression.

"Alright, riddle me this: I have billions of eyes, yet I live in darkness. I have millions of ears, yet only four lobes. I have no muscle, yet I rule two hemispheres. What am I?"

Clover wanted to laugh right in his face. If this was his way of upping the ante, it was horrible. She'd admit that the riddle had sounded confusing initially, but as soon as she heard the word "hemisphere" the answer had become clear.

"The human brain." She answered, this time with more confidence.

Nygma looked at her with indignation. A tiny giggle escaped her as she watched him clench his jaw and glower at her. Perhaps he wasn't used to being bested by someone he'd already labeled as an ignoramus. Clover felt lucky to be his first.

"Alright then." He lets out a puff of air, smoothing his hands over his jacket in a relaxing gesture. "You must've heard those two before. How about one last riddle?"

Clover smiled slowly. The ball was in her court. He was feeling humiliated and eager to regain his high ground, which made him even easier to manipulate. Apparently getting on Nygma's nerves was the best way to rid him of his cool and calculated nature. Clover would have to keep that in mind for later.

"Alright Nygma, but I have a stipulation. If I guess the riddle correctly, you have to answer a question of mine, completely honestly."

His lips curled into a tiny frown. "I thought that's what we were already doing? I was humoring you and answering your pointless inquiries about me."

Clover rolled her eyes. "But you weren't being honest with me. You initially lied about your motivation for killing the guard. If I answer your riddle correctly, you have to tell me the truth without any tricks or manipulations."

She was afraid he wouldn't take the bait, but once again Nygma's arrogance got the best of him.

"Oh, you're upping the risk my dear? Fine, I'll go along with it, but only with a term of my own."

Clover should've known he'd have his own stipulations, but it surprised her nonetheless. When he held all the cards it didn't seem like Nygma really needed to bargain with her much for anything. He had her in the palm of his hand and he knew it. But he also loved competition, and maybe that was his reasoning behind giving her some leeway.

"My requirement is," He continued after a moment, "That if you answer incorrectly, you will accompany me on an errand I must run."

Several red flags quickly popped up in her mind. Going with Nygma to another location was comparable to getting in a van with a strange man who promised candy. Clover did not want her image to end up plastered on the back of a milk carton, captioned with the words, "Have you seen me?"

She wanted to refuse Nygma's terms, but knew that playing along was her best option. At least she had the chance to avoid going with him if she answered correctly. If she point blank refused, he could always just blackmail her into doing what he wanted.

"Alright fine." Clover acquiesced, ignoring the wide grin that snaked across his face.

Nygma wasted no time with his riddle; clearly he'd been using the time she spent in consideration to cook one up.

"I am not alive but I do seem so, because I dance and breathe with no lungs of my own. What am I?" His wicked grin didn't falter, even when Clover's eyes narrowed in determination. He didn't seem put off at all, leaning back in his chair confidently.

Clover knew she could figure this one out. There were several things that could be personified by the traits he'd listed. All she had to do was narrow them down. The first thing that popped into her head was one of those ballerina music boxes, but she quickly scrapped the idea. Several more items came into her head, but each didn't seem to make any sense. Finally, her gaze rested on a fallen leaf in the window sill she faced. Clover smiled in satisfaction.

"A falling leaf."

The pride blooming in her chest quickly dropped into her stomach as Nygma's smile only widened. He leaned forward, gripping the table in sadistic glee.

"I'm afraid that's wrong Clover. The correct answer is a flame."

She stared at him, dumbstruck, not quite believing herself. Of course it was a flame, how could she have been so stupid? She let out a quiet exhale, averting her eyes from Nygma's.

Chuckling at her sudden embarrassment, Edward gave her shoulder a condescending pat.

"Don't look so blue, it was only a matter of time before you failed."

Clover shot him a sour look before wrenching her shoulder away, crossing her arms in a defensive stance.

"Yeah whatever. I guess this means I've got to go on your little errand?" She knew better than to question his motive for bringing her along; it would only lead to an enigmatic answer.

"Yes it does!" He glanced down to check his rather expensive looking watch, "And we'd better leave soon if we're going to make it on time!"

Edward abruptly stood up, grabbing a black briefcase from the floor that she'd failed to notice. Clover slowly copied him, taking one last sip of her coffee. It had gone cold.

Without sparing her another glance, he briskly walked towards the double doors at the front of the shop. Clover fumbled over herself to catch up, following him out into the cold afternoon. His fast pace forced Clover to speed walk, her short legs working overtime to match the strides of his much longer ones. Clover sucked down cold air as she panted, regretting her lack of exercise now more than ever.

"Could you-" pant, "please-" pant, "slow down?" She called out in between breaths.

Edward's steps slowly shortened as he glanced behind himself in distaste. Clover was glad her face was already red from the cold, because she was blushing so hard she could feel it. He said nothing a she caught up, only flashing her a knowing smirk. Clover didn't want to acknowledge it, but she felt self conscious under his stare. She didn't want to care what he thought, but still found herself thinking about it anyways. It was the worst sort of feeling.

"So where are you taking me anyways?" She asked after she finally caught her breath.

"Somewhere I'm sure you've never been before." He stated snidely, not caring to elaborate any more than that.

Clover shuttered, sticking her hands in her pockets to avoid fiddling with them out of nervousness. She supposed she could still try to refuse going with him, but it wouldn't do any good. The choice he'd given her had only been an illusion, nothing more than a pleasant facade. It hadn't mattered whether or not she answered his riddle correctly because the outcome would be the same. Either way, he'd make her come with him. Knowing that didn't make Clover feel any less bitter about answering incorrectly.

As she walked side by side with him, Clover looked anywhere but the tall man next to her. As they approached a crosswalk and halted, she resolutely stared at the cars passing by. Watching the fogged windows of the cars, the image of Nygma's tear stained face flitted across her memory. She tensed in shock, cursing her brain for making the unlikely connection. But now that it was there, Clover couldn't help but ponder it.

Nygma was absolutely nothing like the vulnerable state he'd been in then, not that she'd expected him to be. He was clearly a man who liked to have power and would stop at nothing to have it. He thrived on controlling others, pulling their strings and making them dance. Clover supposed that was probably half the reason why he'd become so invested in her, even if he wouldn't admit to it. As a man who proclaimed he knew everything, he probably also assumed he controlled everything as well.

' _But I know something he doesn't.'_ Clover smirked. Nygma had seen Clover hit rock bottom, but she'd seen him at his lowest as well. The idea of it sent a thrill through her. Nygma may have known quite a lot, but he didn't know that Clover had seen through his cold exterior. Underneath all that confidence was just a sad, weeping man. The knowledge didn't do her much good, but it did put a smile on her face.

Clover glanced up at him, only to find Nygma's eyes already trained on her. She was ready to shy away from an intense glare, but found an unreadable expression instead. It was the same sort of analyzing look he'd shot her before, but somehow softer. She held the connection between them for a few moments before the crosswalk light turned to green. She turned her head away, staring straight ahead as her emotions zipped around inside like electrical currents. She clenched her fists, still concealed in her pockets, as she ignored the glances he gave her every so often. Instead of thinking about the heady feeling in her chest, Clover focused on the aching of her feet.

' _How long until we get there?'_

/

Elation tingled in Edward's mind as he walked towards his destination, accompanied by Clover. She hadn't been too hard to find that day. After one of his hired thugs reported that Clover hadn't come into work, he'd had him trail her when she left her house.

To say Edward had been delighted entering the coffee shop earlier that morning would've been an understatement. As he'd sat a few tables away from the unsuspecting girl, he'd been filled with a barely containable giddiness. It wasn't often that he met a person quite as intriguing as Clover Clein, and he intended to pull on the thread of her life until he had unraveled it all.

Yes, Nygma wasn't afraid anymore to admit that he found the girl interesting, at least to himself. What once had been an attraction purely based on his desire to stimulate himself intellectually had festered into a full blown project. It was comparable to the mystery novels he'd read as a child, always hungry for the answer to the mystery, the culprit of the crime. There was just something nostalgic about the entire situation. For the first time since coming off ice, Nygma felt like himself once more. He equated his joy upon seeing Ms. Clein to this revelation and nothing else.

As he settled in to observe her from across the room, Edward couldn't help but notice the blathering woman sitting across from her. She resembled every other vapid blond inhabiting Gotham, perfect makeup accenting her perfect nails, skin, and clothing. It was clear that among any social hierarchy, this girl severely outclassed Clover. So what were they doing together then? Edward made a mental note to have his men investigate her. Then, he began to wait.

After a tedious hour, the woman finally ran off with a cheery farewell, and Edward knew it was his time to pounce. He'd figured the best place to start would be Clover's past, slowly picking apart her family life. How else was he supposed to find out how she ticked?

However, he had not counted on her attempting to flip the conversation. He supposed that was a repeated folly of his, underestimating her. Here he was always expecting the meek subservience she'd displayed on multiple occasions, but consistently receiving the firey rebuttals he'd also come to associate with her. As much as her defiance served to infuriate him, it also stoked his interest in her even more. Her contradictory nature was applicable to a roller coaster, constantly jerking up and down. The adrenaline rush it gave him was intoxicating.

She'd almost bested him, but then she'd gone and put stakes in their little game of cat and mouse. And that was where the first step of Edward's plan had come in.

He'd realised, a few nights ago as he schemed while watching Grundy in the ring, that Clover Clein was in extreme denial over how much of an enigma she was. The stupid girl didn't even have the intelligence to acknowledge the corrupt part of herself that Edward saw, the true one that she hid and denied. He had no doubt that she used whatever reasons her cluttered mind came up with to justify her misdeeds, but no more. He would force her to look directly into the true motivations behind her actions, and by doing so she would reveal herself more to him. It was the perfect plan.

But first, he had to put her in a situation where that side of her would be brought out. By agreeing to his terms, Clover had unknowingly signed off on her first foray into the most dangerous part of Gotham, and the deepest parts of her soul. Soon enough, everything would fall into place. He had to ease her into a state of unrest, and he knew the perfect place to start.

As the two made their way towards his predetermined destination, Edward couldn't help but use Clover's distracted state as a chance to better observe her. Perhaps analysing some of her nervous quirks would give him some insight into what she was thinking. He glanced down at her several times as they walked, cataloging every nervous quake or cough she made. While looking upon her anxious countenance, Edward began to make an unconscious comparison of her to the other women he'd encountered since his change in life paths.

For starters, Clover's appearance was nothing like the dangerous and feral women he'd become acquainted with. Barbara Kean's crazed eyes and psychotic smile beared no resemblance to the tiny frown constantly etched onto Clover's face. Her short, unremarkable body didn't hold a candle to the graceful physique of Tabitha Galavan. Beyond physical appearance, the differences between Clover and the women of Gotham's criminal underground extended into personality as well.

Edward noted that while Clover did have her infuriating moments, her confidence was nowhere near as bright and unfaltering as Lee's. If Clover said anything bold or derogatory, she was quick to fold back into her meek facade. Edward wasn't sure if he'd rather have her consistently show her confident side or her apprehensive one. Both contained their own annoyances.

Edward glanced down at Clover again as they came to a crosswalk. His eyes trailed along the short strand of hair tucked behind her ear, then continued to roam over her jaw to the dip in her neck leading to the hollow indent of her clavicle. There his gaze rested for a moment, before he quickly remembered himself and abruptly looked elsewhere. Shaking off his haze, Edward continued his previous train of thought.

So he'd established that Clover was quite different from the women currently in his life, but how did she compare to other, more average members of her sex? The question was daunting to answer, considering his utter lack of experience with the female variety. The only women he'd ever become close with were Kristen and Isabella, who were more or less identical in many ways. Both were compassionate, confident, and intelligent women who he had absolutely adored. A pang of hurt shot through his chest, and Edward immediately decided to turn his thoughts elsewhere.

Ultimately, he decided that comparing Clover to other women wouldn't be much help in this situation. In Gotham, danger hardly ever discriminated who it affected, so gender stereotypes weren't likely to ring true very often. Predicting Clover's actions based on the status of her gender was not a viable option in this scenario. So it was back to square one then, uncovering as much information as possible about her as an individual.

Edward didn't look at Clover for the rest of their walk, instead lost in thought over the details of his plans. Despite using it as an opportunity to coax something out of Clover, Edward did actually have an errand to run. It was supposed to be a simple in and out, but he had to be prepared for anyone to throw a wrench in it. There was no room for error when dealing with a scheme of this magnitude.

In his haze of thought, Edward didn't even recognize the slow transition of his mind. The shift in his gait wasn't even recognizable to Clover. His thoughts subtly changed into a more malicious kind, and all of a sudden Edward Nygma was no longer in possession of his own mind. Like a thief in the night, The Riddler had stolen control.

Finally spotting the rendezvous spot, the more cunning version of himself quickly veered off the sidewalk and into the abandoned parking garage they'd approached, not bothering to check if Clover was still following. The light, quick pats of her footsteps were confirmation enough. Edward confidently approached the men. They gave him wary stares as he approached, and even more befuddled ones at the small woman who followed behind him. Edward gave her no mind as he began to review the plan with the simpletons. If they were smart enough to follow directions, it would go off without a hitch.

Clover stood just outside the huddle of seedy looking men, nervously looking over her shoulder to see if they'd been followed. Even a man with an IQ below 70 could tell she didn't belong there, and one of the men chose that moment to speak up about it.

"And uhhh, what about the girl boss? What's she gonna do?"

Edward turned around to briefly fix Clover with an appraising look. Startled by all the eyes suddenly fixed upon her, she quickly busied herself with straightening out her coat.

"Just leave her to me boys." A devious smile spread across his face. "She's got a mission of her own."


End file.
